


Solitude

by zebraljb



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:19:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebraljb/pseuds/zebraljb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slight retelling of the Phantom story, from a slash perspective.  Please forgive any historical inaccuracies or creative liberties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solitude

SOLITUDE  
One

 

Lead me…save me from my solitude

Madame Giry sighed. Yet another interruption. The company NEEDED the rehearsal. Maybe if they did it one more time, La Carlotta would sound like a talented singer, instead of a screeching pig.

The current owner, Lefevre, led the new owners, Firmin and Andre, onto the stage. She noticed the two men eyeing up her dancers, and she quickly moved so she could keep her own daughter, Meg, within eyesight. The music stopped as the men walked through the ballet corps, and she saw the conductor frown. The two men were introduced around, and she moved them to the outside so rehearsals could continue.

“We have a patron,” Andre said suddenly.

“Hmm?” Madame Giry said absently, making a mental note to tell Marie that she was two counts behind on the last movement.

“And here he is,” Lefevre said loudly. Rehearsal paused once again. “May I introduce our patron, the Vicomte de Chagney?”

A handsome young man quickly walked out onstage, obviously embarrassed by the attention. Madame Giry put her hand to her throat, trying to remain calm. He was the mirror image of…

“I thank you and apologize for the interruption. I, with my father and mother, hope to support all the arts in any way we can.” The Vicomte bowed, and quickly walked off stage.

“Who is that blonde goddess?” Andre asked. Madame Giry snapped back to reality. 

“My daughter.”

“You were brilliant, my dear,” Madame Giry said as she helped Christine out of her gown. “I know he will be well pleased.”

“Did you talk to him?” Christine asked eagerly. She was extremely jealous of Madame for all that she knew of the great teacher.

“No, I have not. He comes to me…I cannot come to him,” Madame said, sighing. She was not looking forward to their next conversation.

“I know the patron,” Christine said suddenly.

“What?” Madame whispered.

“We played together, as children. So long ago,” Christine sighed. “He would not recognize me now.”

“Did you know…his father?” Madame asked.

“Oh, no,” Christine said. “They would not visit the likes of us. Raoul…that’s his name…was able to do as he pleased. He came to our cottage frequently.”

A knock at the door startled them both. Madame quickly helped Christine into her robe. “Mademoiselle…it is Andre and Firmin…we have the Vicomte with us.”

Christine gasped and looked at Madame. Madame nodded. “Let him in,” Christine called.

The door opened and Raoul burst into the room. “Christine! Little Lotte.”

“Raoul!” Christine shouted, running into his arms.

“Messieurs, if you will come with me.” Madame led the owners out of the dressing room. They walked ahead of her, out into the party. Out of the corner of her eye, Madame saw a figure in the shadows.

“It is wonderful to see you, Lotte. YOU were wonderful,” Raoul said. “Amazing.”

“Stop,” Christine said, blushing. 

“Now that I have you, I’m taking you to dinner.”

“Oh, no,” Christine said. “My teacher…he wouldn’t like it.”

“Don’t worry. We won’t be out late. I’ll have my driver come around.”

“Raoul, no!” Christine said, but it was too late. Raoul was gone. She sighed and quickly began to dress. A quick dinner wouldn’t hurt. 

 

Madame sat before the mirror in her chambers, brushing out her long hair. Strands of grey sparkled between strands of brown. She sighed. She was no longer the young ballerina she had once been. She shivered suddenly, feeling the cool air across her neck.

“She is gone,” the voice said behind her.

“The patron took her to dinner, I assume,” Madame said.

“I saw a man…in box four…I…” Madame turned to see a black-clad figure gracefully fall into a chair. The blue eye that was uncovered looked at her in confusion. “He looked like…”

“I believe it is his son, Erik,” Madame stood and poured herself a glass of water.

“It cannot be,” Erik said, chuckling. “There is no way he is old enough a son.”

“Look at me, Erik,” Madame said gently. “I am no longer the girl who saved you from the circus. There is grey in my hair, wrinkles on my face. It takes me much longer to get up after I sit down. You are a magician, Erik. You’ve made yourself young…the rest of us do not have that gift.”

Erik stared into the air for a moment. “His son…just as beautiful as he…” He smacked the arm of the chair in anger. “And probably just as foolish…just as hateful…”

“We do not know that, Erik,” Madame said gently.

“And he is with my pupil. Driving her in his fine carriage, behind his fine horses,” Erik snapped. “She will not see him again.” With a whirl of his cape, he disappeared.

 

Two

 

“Tell me about yourself, Christine.” Raoul tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they walked from the café towards the opera house. His carriage and driver had long since been sent home.

“Not much to tell, really. Papa died when I was seven. Madame brought me to the ballet, and I have been there ever since.”

“You missed the part where you learned to sing like an angel,” Raoul teased.

“Oh, that.” Christine blushed slightly. “My father told me he’d send me the angel of music from heaven. And he did!”

“Just who is this…angel?”

“I don’t know. I’ve not seen his face, only heard his voice. He’s a genius. He made me feel the music in a way I never knew possible.”

“I’m quite jealous, I think. You speak of him like he’s someone special.”

“Oh, he IS!” Christine insisted. They walked on.

 

Erik slammed the door behind him, ripping off his mask and throwing it into the corner of his lair. “That…that slave of fashion. That ignorant fool!” He sat down on the organ bench, staring at the keys. “You sing like an angel,” he mimicked. “He thinks he will just step into her life, take her away from what she was born to do? I think not.”

His fingers flew across the keys without his cognizance. His mind was on something besides the music, which for him was very rare. He remembered another face, young, soft, surrounded by sun-kissed hair…a face that Erik could turn from a frown to a smile with one chorus. The face which mocked him, laughing when Erik…

“This fop will NOT steal my voice,” Erik hissed, slamming his hands down on the keys.

He stood, knocking over the bench. Pulling a rope, he gazed upon the mirror that was revealed. He had long ago accepted his fate, accepted the fact that he would need to live literally below the world because it did not understand him. Had it really been as many years as Madame had said? He looked no different. The skin on the left side of his face was still smooth, marred by not one wrinkle. The other side…it had not changed either. His eye still drooped; the skin still looked like someone had poured hot wax upon it. He sighed. No one would ever love him…but they would love his music.

 

“This is preposterous!” Firmin shouted, stalking across the stage and yet again interrupting rehearsal. The conductor sighed, leaving his podium to get a drink.

“You preposterous!” La Carlotta screamed. “We singing here!”

“Asking for more money!” Firmin yelled. “What is this about?”

Andre rose from where he had been sitting and watching the dancers. “Who, Firmin?”

“O.G.”

“It is the Opera Ghost, Monsieur. Lefevre paid him every month.” Madame came from the shadows. 

“If he is a ghost, couldn’t he just steal from a bank,” Andre joked. Madame did not smile.

“Those of speak of such things soon find that silence is wise, Monsieur.” Madame pointed with her cane. “You pay him his salary. You keep box five open.”

“Preposterous,” Firmin said again, but he looked unsure.

“Is it not worth the money, for the new talent he has given you?” Madame smiled warmly at Christine, who was once again in the ballet.

“Bah!” La Carlotta yelled, grabbing her poodle and leaving the stage.

 

“Raoul, I must get back to rest,” Christine said later, giggling as he reached out to grab her.

“You have many hours to rest. We have so much to catch up on.” Raoul stood before her on the stairs, but she ducked under his arm. They were exploring the opera house as she told him stories of her years growing up there.

“Why are you not married, Raoul?” Christine asked. 

Raoul froze momentarily, then said, “Maybe I just haven’t found the right person.” 

“I bet you can’t catch me!” Christine laughed, then darted down the steps. Raoul started after her, carefully navigating the damp steps. He came to a Y, deciding on the right arm. He thought he could hear her footsteps ahead of him.

He felt the pathway dipping down a bit. He knew now that he had chosen the wrong way, but he continued on anyway. He’d find his way out eventually. Torches still lit the hall, and he took one from its holder. He shivered in the mist that seemed to appear from nowhere. “Christine?” He called, hearing only his own voice echo back to him.

“Your hand at the level of your eyes,” a voice hissed in his ear. He jumped, whirled around, lost his balance, and fell into a puddle. He got up, shaking the water from his jacket. He slowly raised his hand to shade his eyes, peering ahead into the darkness. He could hear water lapping, and he followed the sound.

A small rowboat sat at the end of the path. He looked around, called for Christine once more, then sat in the boat and began to row.

 

Three

 

Erik scribbled furiously at the aria, adding and subtracting as he hummed along. Christine had amazing range. One part seemed almost alto, another totally soprano, but he knew she’d be able to sing it.

A silver bell hanging beside the organ tinkled merrily. He started so violently that the ink dribbled along the page. He didn’t notice. That bell was designed to ring when someone moved his boat away from the wall. It had never rung until now.

 

Raoul rowed the boat along the narrow corridor of water. He was shocked to see candelabras shaped like arms and hands slowly move away from the wall. It was like some enchanted fairytale, but the fairytale was set in a nightmarish setting. The torches gave the only light, and the walls were wet and dirty. Rats ran along the side, and he shuddered as he watched them scurry along. The water curved slightly, and he saw a short flight of stairs leading down from the water. He quickly rowed over, tied the boat to the small pole sticking from the wall, and hurried down the steps. His curiosity took over, and he eagerly followed the path.

He turned a corner, and the path went from solid level ground to a slippery slide. He yelped as he lost his footing and fell, sliding down on his backside. He slid for a few seconds, then fell onto a hard rock floor. The opening he slid through was too far up for him to climb out, and too steep as well. In front of him was a door made of iron bars, looking out into a cavernous room. He saw mirrors, candles, and a large organ.

“Hello?” Raoul called, shaking the bars.

“Monsieur, I bid you welcome,” a voice hissed. 

“Who are you?” Raoul yelled.

“Sir, this is indeed an unparalleled delight. I hope you enjoyed your journey.” The voice moved into Raoul’s sight, and he gaped, mouth open.

 

Erik arranged his mask into place, then stood by the cell, pacing impatiently. How long would it take this intruder to arrive? He was eager to see the fool who dared trespass. It had been a while since he’d done a good torture. 

He smiled as he heard the telltale thud of a body hitting the floor. He heard a man call out in a nervous tone of voice. “Monsieur, I bid you welcome,” Erik hissed in reply, slowly moving into view.

“Who are you?”

“Sir, this is an unparalleled delight. I hope you enjoyed your journey.” Erik recognized the young Vicomte just as the man’s mouth dropped open in shock. 

“Sir, I ask you to free me. Someone has left this door in place, and I cannot get out.”

“That’s what happens when you trespass on someone else’s property,” Erik said, regaining his composure. “What were you doing, wandering around my opera house? Shouldn’t you be flirting with my pretty student?”

“You…you’re her angel?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Erik paced once more, trying to figure out what to do.

“I thought he was an esteemed teacher…someone who took students to make some money…not someone who lived in a cellar.”

Erik turned his good eye onto the Vicomte and glared. “I thank you not to insult my home.”

“I am sorry. Please…just let me go and I’ll tell no one…”

“No, you will not. I have half a mind to keep you here. I always wanted a pet.” 

“No. You can’t do that! You monster!” Raoul shook at the bars again, causing Erik to laugh. 

“Poor child.”

“I’m not a child,” Raoul said, almost pouting.

Suddenly Erik was at the bars, his face inches from Raoul’s. “I have seen things that you cannot ever dream of seeing.”

 

Raoul stared at the masked face before him. This monster…this crazy man, living in a dungeon, wearing a mask…this was Christine’s teacher?

“Poor child,” mocked this man, this Phantom.

“I’m not a child,” Raoul said stubbornly.

The Phantom moved swiftly, putting his face in Raoul’s. “I have seen things that you cannot even dream of seeing.”

Raoul took this strange opportunity to study his captor. The body was lithe and muscular. The voice was deep with a slight rasp. The skin not covered by the mask looked soft and tender. The blue eye that ran over him, however, was neither soft nor tender. It held all the sadness in the world.

“Show me,” Raoul breathed, then blinked hard. What had he just said?

The Phantom moved back, looking a bit uncomfortable. “Tell me, how is your father?”

“M-my father?” Raoul stuttered. The Phantom began to pace again, making sure not to meet Raoul’s eyes. “What do you know of him?”

“I know you are his mirror image. I see you and suppose he finally met a nice little GIRL and settled down.” The Phantom paused. “He is what…fifty?”

“He is five and forty,” Raoul replied, then shook his head. “Do not speak of him. Why do you ask?”

“Tell me…do his eyes still burn like blue steel when he is angry? Do his fair cheeks still burn when he is embarrassed?” The Phantom asked before he thought.

Raoul stared at him. “Who are you?”

“I am a monster, remember?” A sword was pulled at the same time the Phantom released the door, and Raoul found it pointing at his throat. “I will blindfold you. You will not fight. I will lead you back into the basement of the opera. You will tell no one of this meeting. Not even Christine.”

“Why hasn’t she ever seen you? What’s under your mask?” Raoul managed to ask bravely.

“She loves the music. She will never love the man,” the Phantom said before tying a black scarf around Raoul’s head.

 

Four

 

“Is there a way you can hide this?” Raoul asked, handing Christine the single white carnation. “It’s for luck.”

“Raoul…where were you?” Christine tucked the flower into the waist of her costume. “I waited for you in the catacombs, then I finally came back here to rest.”

Raoul felt too embarrassed to tell her he had gotten lost. He also did not want her to know he had met her Angel. “Oh, I just did some exploring on my own,” he said lightly. “I imagine this was an interesting place to grow up.”

“It was…especially when I started to learn to sing,” Christine replied with a blissful look on her face. “I’ve learned so much…it’s because of him I am here now.”

“And you’ve never seen his face?” Raoul asked. She shook her head. “He could be a thief, a murderer…some sort of monster.”

As soon as Raoul said the word “monster,” all the lights in the room suddenly went out. “Oh!” Christine cried.

“I’m sure it was just a breeze. Maybe the door is open.” Raoul quickly lit one of the candles on Christine’s dressing table.

“A breeze would not douse the gas lights,” Christine argued. “It is him. He’s here! You must go. He’s angry with me.”

“Christine,” Raoul said as he relit the lights. “You’re imagining things. If he’s such an angel, why are you so afraid?”

“He is very strict, Raoul. I know he doesn’t like the fact that I spend time with you.”

Raoul took her in his arms, knowing it was what she expected. He did not exactly think her teacher was a monster. True, his outward appearance was hellish, but something in his eyes was innocent. He wanted to get to know this teacher of hers a bit better, though the thought of it twisted his insides in an odd fashion. “Well, what if I asked you to choose between us?” Raoul said, twining a lock of her hair between his fingers.

“I could not,” she whispered. “You are my oldest, dearest friend from long ago. He is…”

“I know. Your angel.” He lightly kissed her cheek. “I will leave you, so your teacher will not be angered. Supper later?”

“I don’t think so,” she said with a sigh, and he was secretly relieved. “I should rest.”

“I’ll come see you here afterwards, to say goodnight,” he promised. He kissed her cheek again, then took his leave.

 

“I am sorry, Vicomte!” The woman cried. “There was some confusion…I did not know you were coming, and…”

“Madame Letourne, you know that the Vicomte ALWAYS comes to Mademoiselle Daae’s performances,” Firmin said angrily. The new box hostess burst into tears.

“Now now, this is no reason to cry,” Raoul said soothingly. “There must be another box open…” Raoul looked around the tier of private boxes. “I’ll simply take that one. Box Five, is it?”

“Oh, no, Monsieur Vicomte!” Madame Letourne gasped. “That is the Opera Ghost’s box!”

“Such a silly little fantasy,” Firmin said, chuckling. “No such thing as the Opera Ghost. Such superstition!” He put a hand on Raoul’s back. “You are more than welcome to sit here, Vicomte.”

“Thank you.” Raoul went into the box, pulled the red velvet portieres shut, and sat down. His hands were shaking as he tried to read his program. This was the Ghost’s box. He would probably be there. Raoul would see him again. He’d get a chance to talk to him.

Raoul frowned. Why should he care about this man who trapped innocent people in a cage? This man who lived in the dank darkness of the bowels of the opera house. This supposed genius, who could not even show his pupil his face. Raoul should grab him by his throat…corner him…demand that he end this mysterious hiding.

Yet, at the same time, Raoul knew exactly why he cared. Those few moments with this Angel of Music had shaken Raoul to the very core. He had always busied himself with pretty women of low morals…and here he was, attracted to this strange man.

The overture began, and Raoul forced himself to push these thoughts from his mind. A senseless, amusing opera was just what he needed to stop this internal argument. He applauded loudly when Christine appeared on the cage.

“She is a shining star within the dullness of the company, is she not?” A voice hissed in his ear. Raoul started to turn around, but felt a cold blade against the back of his throat. “Move not, Vicomte. It will take little energy for me to move this shaft and slit your neck.” Raoul swallowed deeply. “You have not answered my question.”

“Yes…” Raoul whispered. “A jewel.” Both fear and intense attraction made his throat dry.

“Did someone not tell you that Box Five is to be left empty?” The voice growled.

“I would think that a teacher such as yourself should indeed have a reserved seat for every performance,” Raoul finally gasped. “Yet there was no other place for me.”

“Well, I suppose I could share, just this once.” Raoul felt a hand stroke across his ponytail and down to his neck. Fingers splayed across his throat, the thumb landing on his pulse point. “I always do enjoy pretty things around me.”

“I’m not pretty,” Raoul snapped, shrugging his shoulders slightly. He felt the Ghost pull away and heard the chuckling.

“You are quite, Vicomte. Quite attractive.”

“Are you always attracted to men? Or is it simply my royalty? Or perhaps the affection that Mademoiselle Daae has for me?” Raoul held his breath, waiting for the other man’s reaction.

“I have an attraction to beauty, Vicomte. It matters not what form it comes in. Granted, I have had very little experience with either sex, although…” The Ghost interrupted himself. “Secondly, your royalty holds no appeal to me. I value the emotion in a painting, the soul in a song, the romance in a poem much more than an earldom or dukedom. Thirdly…” He paused. “You will never be to Christine what I am. I give her a voice. I make her soar. You can satisfy her body, Vicomte, but I will satisfy her soul.”

“What about MY soul, and MY body? Do I not get satisfaction?” Raoul asked. He had initially meant by Christine, but he gasped as a tongue ran up his neck and flicked out against his earlobe. 

“Patience, Vicomte.”

And the Ghost was gone.

 

Five

 

Raoul did not remember a thing from the opera, except for the fact that Christine performed exceptionally. He clapped when he heard others clapping, stood when he saw the people down in the audience stand, but otherwise his mind was totally on the words that were whispered in his ear: “Patience, Vicomte.”

The opera was over and the house almost empty before he snapped out of his reverie. He stood, gathered his cloak and program, and went out into the corridor. “Monsieur Vicomte,” a voice said, and he whipped around. “I can take you down to Miss Daae’s dressing room through a back door…there is no reason for you to continually fight your way through the crowds.”

“Madame Giry, correct?” Raoul said, pasting a smile onto his face. “I remember meeting you the first day…you’ve looked after Christine, have you not?”

Madame Giry started walking briskly, and he had to hurry to keep up even though he towered over her by five or six inches. “Yes, Monsieur. When she came here nine years ago, I took her in as my own daughter. Even now, then two of them are thicker than blood.”

“I’m glad she has someone to watch out for her,” Raoul said honestly. “Tell me, Madame, have you ever met her teacher?”

Madame Giry, who normally walked with the grace of someone who had danced for years, tripped over her own feet. Raoul caught her arm just in time to keep her from falling. “Her teacher? No, Monsieur. This way…” She stepped ahead of him and he could only follow. She said nothing more.

Madame knocked on Christine’s door. “It is I, Christine,” Raoul said.

“Come in,” Christine said.

Madame nodded her goodbye, curtsying slightly to Raoul before she turned to leave. Raoul entered the dressing chamber, shutting the door behind him. “You were brilliant, as usual,” he said. He handed her a bouquet of carnations that matched the one he had given her earlier. 

“Thank you,” she said, laying the flowers on her dressing stand. “I was not very brilliant,” she said, sighing. She sat at her dressing stand and started to remove the glistening faux jewels that had been woven into her long hair. She nodded at the wardrobe mistress, who curtsied to Raoul and left the room. “I didn’t feel right. Something was off…and I lost my place onstage twice in the first act. Right at the beginning.”

Remembering that he had not been alone at the beginning of the first act, Raoul shivered. “No one noticed,” he said. “You were perfect.”

“You weren’t paying attention,” she teased, and he frowned.

“You felt something was wrong?” Raoul said, changing the subject.

“Usually, I feel as if I am protected when I’m beneath the lights…that I can do no wrong. It is as if my teacher is there with me, leading me by the hand, making sure I cannot fall. Tonight, however, it was different. I was alone…and I was frightened.”

Christine finished removing the jewels and picked up her hairbrush. Raoul took it from her and gently began to brush her thick hair. She smiled slightly; he had done this when they were children. His strokes were tender. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. This teacher is just a man, not a magician. He is never up there with you…it is all you, Christine. You’re talented; you’re beautiful…everyone in the house loved you. No one noticed what you described to me.” He handed her the brush. “You said you wish to rest tonight. Shall I come and pick you up for luncheon? A picnic…by the river.”

“I shouldn’t,” she began.

“You need a day away from this place. The theater is dark tomorrow.” He squeezed her shoulder, but made no move to kiss her. “I will come by at one.”

 

Deep and thought, Raoul didn’t watch where he was going as he left her dressing chamber. He turned left instead of right, then right instead of left, and found himself not in the lobby, but behind the scenery room. He knew his way out, but didn’t want to leave quite yet. He followed the slope of the floor and found steps going down under the stage. He nodded to various stagehands that were putting away the props and some of the curtains. They seemed surprised to see him there, but did not stop him. He was the patron, and had full run of the opera house. 

He found himself in the pottery room where many of the columns and pedestals were created. He sneezed as the dust got into his sinuses. Still sneezing, he ducked behind a curtain and found himself in a stone corridor similar to the one he had happened upon while looking for Christine. Smiling grimly, he went back into the pottery room, found a lamp and flint, and began to walk down once more.

 

Erik removed his mask and tossed it onto a small table. The mask landed with a light thud, brushing some blank sheet music paper onto the floor. Erik sighed and picked it up. He had not intended to meet the young Vicomte once more. Looking at him only reminded Erik of the old Vicomte, and those were memories best left buried. 

He knew, however, that this young Raoul was his own man. Louis, Raoul’s father, was cocky, arrogant, and totally sure of himself. Sure of his money, his title, his looks. Raoul, however, was pure as the snow that fell outside the cellar windows. He was shy, and totally unaware of his appeal. Erik knew he could crumble Raoul beneath his feet without thinking twice. That would show Louis.

 

Raoul expected to come upon the hidden lake at any moment. He listened intently, waiting to hear the sounds of the water slapping at the stone. However, instead of this he heard the snort and whinny of a horse. He held out the lamp, walking slowly.

A beautiful snow white horse stood tethered to the wall. “Hello there,” Raoul said softly, placing the lamp far from the horse’s long legs. “Who are you, handsome fellow?” He slowly approached the trembling beast, holding out a hand. The horse tossed his head, pawing slightly at the ground. “I don’t want to hurt you…” Raoul ran a hand down the horse’s neck, and the creature seemed to move into the caress. “Can you lead me to your master?” Raoul untied the tether, and the horse immediately walked beside him. Stopping directly before Raoul, the horse bent down slightly, and Raoul realized he was supposed to ride. He carefully climbed up onto the horse’s bare back, and the animal began to walk at a leisurely rate.

 

Erik washed himself slowly, working from the bottom up. His hand scrubbed across his broad chest before moving its way up the slender neck. He would have preferred to totally ignore the right side of his face, but he did not want to risk any sort of infection. He had read everything he could get his hands on about physical deformities, had forced Madame Giry to order books from the world’s most esteemed library, and still could find out next to nothing about what caused his ugliness, and how to remove it.

He froze when he heard the clomping of a horse’s hooves, the cloth inches from his chin. He turned and watched his horse bring the young Vicomte into Erik’s lair.

 

“Cesar, you naughty boy,” Erik said, maintaining his disdainful façade. He turned away and quickly replaced the mask. “I thought I trained you better. You do not like strangers.”

“He likes me.” Raoul slid to the ground, rubbing Cesar’s side. “Cesar? A noble name.”

“Good night, Cesar,” Erik said. With a final toss of his head, Cesar nipped at Raoul’s hair before turning and going back up the corridor. Erik reached over and pulled a lever by his washstand. An iron gate, similar to the one Raoul had been trapped by before, slowly fell closed behind Raoul. Now Raoul was trapped within instead of without. “What are you doing here, Vicomte?”

“I think we need to talk, Monsieur.” Raoul seemed calm as he leaned against a rock wall. 

“I do not need to do anything, Vicomte.”

Raoul let his eyes wander over Christine’s teacher. He wore the same tight black leggings he had worn earlier in the evening, and his black boots, but nothing else. The breeches were damp, as was his chest and hair. He was obviously in the middle of bathing. Raoul swallowed deeply. “What kind of game are you at? You…well…you flirt with me, at the same time as you try to seduce Christine?”

“As I said, I do not need to discuss anything with you.” Erik turned and reached for a robe.

“I pay your salary, Monsieur. It is my money that keeps you in silk shirts and cravats,” Raoul pointed out. “I want you to leave Christine alone. You do not own her.”

“And neither do you.” Erik moved swiftly, and Raoul was soon pinned to the rock wall. “I have given her my music, and she is now the toast of Paris. Do you not want the best for her?”

“Of course I do,” Raoul spluttered. “You are not…”

“Someday she will decide to sing no more, and she will marry you and have your babies. They will definitely be beautiful children. Is that not what royalty does? They marry and have babies?” Erik’s hand moved to hold Raoul by the throat.

“Not all of us,” Raoul whispered, and Erik’s hand loosened slightly. “In my family, only the first son must marry. He can only inherit that way. My ancestors worded our family documents that way. I am not the first son. Philippe is. I love Christine, yes, but…” Raoul closed his eyes. “I am not yet sure that marriage is what I want.” Erik did not speak, but he slowly moved his hand to hold Raoul by the shoulder. “Why do you touch me so?” Raoul said suddenly. “Why do you whisper in my ear, touch your tongue to my skin?”

“I told you…” Erik moved back. “I like beautiful things.”

“So I am another piece of art?”

Erik laughed. “What do you think? I do not make it a habit of seducing innocent young virgins, Vicomte.”

“I am not…a virgin,” Raoul said, blue eyes blazing.

“You are not?” Erik said in a mocking tone. “Tell me, Vicomte…” Erik moved closer again. “Have you ever felt a man’s hands on you…felt their strength knead your skin even as his lips taste you?” Erik’s mouth met the skin below Raoul’s ear. “Have you ever touched a man’s body, felt the similarities to your own even as he moves with you like a woman does?” Erik pressed his thigh between Raoul’s legs, his knee moving up against Raoul’s hardness. Raoul gasped and let his head fall back with a thud. “Have you ever felt yourself stretched above imagining as he plunges into you?” Erik pulled Raoul’s hands up above his head, the rock scratching the tender skin as Raoul’s hands were pressed against the wall. Erik plunged his tongue into Raoul’s mouth and was satisfied with the groan that followed. Erik struck Raoul against the head suddenly, just hard enough to knock the Vicomte out.

Erik sat down on the ground for a moment, trying to regain control of his rebellious body before he could remove this annoying Vicomte from his home.

 

Six

 

Raoul awoke to full sunlight on his face and excessive pounding in his head. “My God,” he groaned, reaching up to tenderly press against the side of his head. The pounding wasn’t inside, however, but on the door.

“Monsieur Vicomte…sir…”

“Enter,” Raoul called, then winced. His manservant entered. “What do you need?”

“I have been coming up to waken you every fifteen minutes since nine o’clock, Monsieur,” the man said apologetically. “You will have luncheon with Miss Daae today, will you not?”

Raoul walked to the window, peering at the height of the sun. “What time is it, Joseph?”

“Almost eleven, Monsieur.”

Raoul swore, then pulled the curtains closed. “We were going to picnic. Do you know if…”

“I will tell Cook. It will take only a moment.” Joseph bowed and left the room.

Raoul walked to the washbasin and splashed water over his face. He remembered another washbasin…the half-naked man…washing himself. He gulped and dumped the entire basin over his head.

 

Christine ran out of the opera house, holding her hat down with one hand and carrying her parasol with the other. “Oh, Raoul, this is the perfect day for a picnic, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” Raoul said, looking up at the blue sky. His head still throbbed, but he had held ice on it for over an hour before departing to the opera house. He then looked down at Christine. Her brown hair was pinned back demurely, but a few curls escaped here and there. She wore a sea green dress with matching hat. The dress emphasized her slender waist and round bosom. “You, however, are a vision.”

“Oh, Raoul,” she said modestly. He helped her into the carriage, then chirruped to the horses.

They chatted gaily on the way to the river, and he realized that she was more at peace than he had seen her since their reacquaintance. He himself felt relaxed and joyful. It was a beautiful day, and he was in his beautiful carriage with a beautiful woman. To hell with the strange Phantom of the Cellar.

 

“Do you miss him?” Raoul asked as he split the last of the wine between their two glasses. He would have to stop into his kitchen and thank his cook. She had outdone herself with fresh chilled salmon, vegetables and delectable little cakes. A bottle of wine completed the best picnic lunch he had ever eaten.

“Who?” Christine asked, actually kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet under her.

“Your father.”

“Of course,” she whispered. “But as he said, I have the Angel of Music now.”

“Right,” he said. He stood. “I believe that is my brother’s boat.” He pointed to a red boat with snapping white sails. “I doubt he can see us.”

Christine stood, her stocking feet jumping up and down on the blanket. She waved her hat gaily. “I’ll make him see us.” She squealed as the wind took her hat into the water. 

“Is it my purpose in life to rescue your clothing from the water?” Raoul teased. “Sit down and stop making a spectacle of yourself, foolish girl. I shall save the day!” He shouted, making just as much of a spectacle as she had. She giggled and sat down. 

Raoul waded into the water, trying to catch the hat as it soared downstream. “Raoul, there’s no need,” Christine began. “A Vicomte should not be wading down the Seine!”

“I will save your bonnet, or buy you one for each day of the month!” He declared. “It’s just down around that pier. I will return immediately.” 

Raoul reached the pier in question and saw the hat bobbing under the wooden planks. He moved to retrieve it, losing sight of Christine as he bent down. Suddenly water poured over his head as he felt something pull him down. He gasped for breath. The water at the pier was only thigh-deep, but something held him down. He pushed his feet against the bottom and stood quickly, cracking his head on the pier.

“What in God’s name…” he panted. A hand covered his mouth and pulled him down to sit in the water. 

“Are you not a little old to play in the river, Vicomte?”

“You!” Raoul said, trying to turn around. The other man held him between his legs, Raoul’s back to his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Taking in some sun. What do you think I am doing here?” The Phantom growled. “I am here to keep an eye on my student.”

“She will become a caged bird if you do not let her out to fly now and then,” Raoul said. 

The Phantom rubbed at Raoul’s wet head. “Are you determined to get a concussion, Monsieur?”

“No thanks to you,” Raoul spat. “What did you do to me?”

“It was time for you to leave. You intruded upon my private space.”

Raoul did not reply. He felt every inch of the Phantom’s body pressed against his back, and had to keep himself from pushing back. Finally he said, “I must return. She will be missing me.”

“Very well.” The man did not release him. “Are you positive you wish to return?”

“You must STOP this,” Raoul growled. “I am a Vicomte. Vicomtes do not sit under piers with strange men, letting them FONDLE them. Leave me alone!” 

Raoul made a great effort to move from the Phantom’s hold. The other man chuckled. “I am no stranger, Raoul,” the Phantom hissed in his ear. “You know exactly who and what I am.”

Raoul shivered at the sound of his first name coming from the Phantom’s mouth. “I do not know your name,” Raoul said.

He felt the arms that surrounded him slowly move away. “I am Erik,” the voice in his ear said. “I will be in Box Five during the performance night after next. If you wish to find out what I really want with you, you will be there.” Raoul heard Erik move through the water. He did not turn around to watch.

 

“Raoul!” Christine gasped. “You are soaked to the bone!”

“Here is your hat, my dear,” Raoul handed her the sodden hat. “I am sorry for my delay.”

“Thank you, Raoul,” Christine said, shaking the hat and making water fly. “My hero.”

“Let us return to the carriage. I believe I have a blanket there that I may use to dry myself. I do not wish to soil your dress.” Raoul packed up their lunch and headed for the carriage.

 

Seven

 

“You must keep a hand at the level of your eyes,” Madame Giry heard a male voice hiss as she approached the dancers’ dormitory. “He will grab you by the neck, and shake you ‘til you’re dead!”

Madame shoved the door open as her girls squealed with fear. She glared at Joseph Bouquet, who stood in the middle of the room. Her dancers stood here and there, some still dressed, some in their nightclothes. “It would do you good to hold your tongue!” Madame snapped. “First of all, what are you doing in here, drunk? Secondly, those who speak of what they know, soon find that prudent silence is wise! Speak not of what you THINK you know, for you will regret it in the end.” Joseph headed for the door, but not before leering at the young girls once last time. “OUT!” Madame yelled, giving him a swift kick in the pants and shutting the door behind him.

“Mama, is what he said true?” Meg asked softly. “Is there really a monster under the opera?”

“No, my love.” Madame kissed her daughter’s head. “He is no monster. Joseph Bouquet is the monster.”

Neither of them heard the footsteps as someone moved down the corridor ahead of them.

 

Raoul paced inside Christine’s dressing room, waiting for the end of Act One. He refused to sit in the audience; he did not want to enter Box Five until he was to meet Erik the next night. He sniffed at bouquets, preened in front of the mirror, anything to pass the time. He was not going to stay through Act Two; Christine had asked to be left alone that night. He wondered if she was meeting Erik for another lesson. He also wondered why he felt so jealous of the thought.

He heard screaming and started for the door. Christine, however, opened it before he could reach the handle. “Raoul! Oh, Raoul, it’s simply dreadful!” Christine gasped, throwing herself into his arms. She quickly pulled back. “Come, to the roof…it is the only place we can be safe.”

She yanked at his arm and he could only follow her, keeping pace with her frantic steps as she climbed stairs and ducked through doorways. “What’s going on, Christine? Are you hurt?”

“No, not yet,” she panted, throwing the door to the rooftop open and climbing through. “Hurry!”

She pulled with all her strength, and Raoul practically fell onto the roof. “What…is going on…Christine?” He asked again.

She stared into the darkness. “Joseph Bouquet, our stagehand…he was killed.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Raoul said, still confused.

“He was hung…over the stage…during the ballet sequence,” she whispered.

“Good God,” Raoul gasped.

“Madame Giry said she caught him making jokes about the Phantom of the Opera…Joseph said he was an evil monster.” Christine walked to the edge of the roof. “I believe my teacher is this Phantom, Raoul.”

“What makes you say that, Christine?” Raoul asked in an innocent tone.

“I know my teacher lives in the opera house,” she continued, as if Raoul had never spoken. “He appears in my room as if by magic. I also know that the Phantom has lived in the opera house for decades. I know my teacher has a temper…he has threatened anyone that comes between him and his music…or anyone that comes between me and his music.” Christine turned her brown eyes onto Raoul. “That is why I fear for our safety when we are together, Raoul.”

“I’m sure he would do nothing to harm me,” Raoul said before he thought. She gazed at him. “I mean, well, we do nothing to interfere with your training.”

“You distract me,” she said, and her eyes were so full of love that he blushed.

“He would never harm you, either,” Raoul said quickly. 

“But he kills. He frightens me!” Christine cried, falling into Raoul’s arms once more. He patted her back.

“I will make sure no harm comes to you,” Raoul promised.

“He will no longer be my teacher!” Christine buried her head in Raoul’s jacket and wept. “He deceived me…I gave him my mind blindly!”

“Christine, you said he appeared in your room like magic…how?” Raoul rubbed her back reassuringly.

“Well…he came through my mirror, I think,” she said with a small laugh. I would turn around, and hear him through the mirror. I never saw him come in, mind you, but I know his voice came from that direction.”

“I see,” Raoul said. “You will not go back onstage tonight. I will escort you to your rooms.”

“I think I would be safer with you. You have room at your home for me, do you not?”

“It would not be right,” Raoul said. “You would not be chaperoned. Madame Giry can protect you within the confines of the opera house.”

 

Raoul could not sleep that night. He tossed and turned, visions of Erik in his mind. Could Erik really be that ruthless and evil…murdering someone just because they spoke unkindly of him? Why did he wear the mask? What was he hiding?

Raoul finally got out of bed, dressed, and crept downstairs. He did not want to awaken his staff. They would want to know why he was wandering through the house at that late hour, and he wasn’t sure himself. He went into the large room he used for exercise, and picked up his favorite sword. He amused himself by dodging, parrying and avoiding an imaginary opponent, then slowly lowered the sword. If this man appeared by magic, he was obviously not going to be harmed by a simple sword. But could he, Raoul, really kill this man who sparked something inside of him that no other human being had ever created?

Raoul tossed his sword into a corner and went to his room for his heavy cloak. He left a note for his manservant, then went to the stable. He jumped upon his favorite horse and quietly walked her out onto the road. Only then did he allow himself to canter quickly towards the opera house.

 

Eight

 

Raoul swore as he pulled yet again at the doors of the opera house. Of course they were locked. He was the patron, but he did not have a key. He walked back to where his horse was tethered, trying to think. He then remembered that Christine had once shown him a window that had a broken lock. She said it was how she and the other dancers would sneak out when they were supposed to be asleep.

He walked around the side of the building and quickly found the window. He could not fit through while wearing his coat, so he went back to his horse and draped the coat over her back.

He slid through the window with ease, landing on his feet. He realized that he was in the costume room. He knew exactly where he was, and would not need a lamp to find his way to Christine’s dressing chamber. He found himself tiptoeing along, and finally laughed aloud. Why was he sneaking around?

When he was in the dressing room, however, he did light a lamp. He stared at the mirror for a long moment, then walked over to it. He reached out towards his own reflection, and his hand touched cold glass. He sighed. What had he expected?

He turned to leave, then froze. He slowly turned around as the music grew louder. He stared at the mirror. His reflection shimmered, then disappeared. He could see into the dank corridor leading down. He grabbed the lamp and walked through the frame of the mirror.

Raoul didn’t even notice the chill that filled the air as he walked further down. All he could think of was the amazing music. In the back of his mind, he knew that the person making the music was a killer. That didn’t matter. All that mattered was the music.

He soon found himself on a small ledge, looking into the cavernous apartment of the Phantom. Raoul saw Erik at the organ, but made no move to catch his attention. He slowly sat down, feet dangling over the edge.

“You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent…” 

Raoul swallowed deeply. Erik was right, there was something pulling at him, pulling a part of him that he had always hidden away. Erik stopped playing and turned around to look at him.

“Please…” Raoul said weakly, “don’t stop.”

Erik walked over and nimbly scaled the rock wall to Raoul’s ledge. He reached out and grabbed Raoul’s leg, slowly pulling him off the ledge. He took Raoul’s hand and helped him hop down. “I have brought you…” Erik continued to sing, “that our passions may fuse and merge…in your mind you’ve already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me…” Raoul found himself being lowered to a giant bed, covered in red satin sheets. “Now you are here with me…no second thoughts…you’ve decided…decided…” Erik covered Raoul’s body with his own, bending down until his mouth was level with Raoul’s ear.

Raoul hissed as he felt the teeth bite at his neck. “Succumbed to you…yes…oh dear God…” he gasped. His hands grabbed blindly at Erik’s shirt.

Erik pulled back to look Raoul in the eye. There was something evil in the blue depths of the one eye Raoul could see. “Do you wish us to fuse and merge…you have completely given yourself up to me?”

Erik realized his error immediately. Raoul shoved Erik away and rolled off the bed. “No! It was the music, not you!” Raoul adjusted his pants and Erik snorted. 

“I did not realize music could arouse a person physically,” Erik mocked, and Raoul blushed.

“Did you murder that man?”

“Why are you here? How did you get in? Did Christine tell you about our little passageway?” Erik said. He leaned back on one elbow.

“She has never been here. Do not try to make me jealous,” Raoul said.

“Oh? The thought of Christine and I make you jealous?”

“She cares for me, and I…I care for her,” Raoul stammered. Erik smiled.

“Yet you stutter in your declaration of love.”

“Did…you…kill…him?”

“Yes.” Erik sat up and studied his fingernails. “It had to be done. That man was an evil brute. Not only did ill abuse me with his words, but I saw him eyeing up the dancers. They were not safe.”

“Good God!” Raoul almost tripped as he backed away from the bed. “Christine spoke of the wonderful angel that made her heart sing…I would never have believed him to be a killer!”

“What are you doing here, Vicomte?” Suddenly Erik was on his feet, striding towards Raoul. “Why do you come visit me under the cloak of night?”

“I wanted to find out if it was really true…” Raoul said, refusing to back down. “And now I see it is. The stories of the Phantom of the Opera are all true. You are a cold blooded killer!”

Erik’s hands were tender as he cupped Raoul’s face in them. “Past the point of no return…no backward glances…our games of make believe are at an end,” Erik sang. “Past all thought of if and when…no use resisting…abandon thought and let the dream descend.” Erik’s face was inches from Raoul’s. He would not move further, though he licked his lips. Raoul leaned forward and initiated the kiss.

Raoul could not resist. Not when Erik was in front of him, offering his lips to him. The music swirled through Raoul’s mind, and he let himself kiss Erik for a long moment.

“No!” Raoul finally gasped, shoving Erik away once more. “Leave us alone! Leave Christine and I alone!”

“Is that what you really want, Vicomte?”

“Yes!” Raoul yelled, moving past Erik. Erik waved his hand, and a doorway opened.

“Sweet dreams, Vicomte.”

 

“Raoul!” Christine ran down the steps of the opera house lobby. She pulled her robe around her body. Her hair was still in its thick braid, so Raoul knew she had still been in bed when he arrived. “The maid would not tell me what you wanted.”

“Everything is fine,” he said soothingly. He took her hand and led her to a bench by the door. “I apologize for calling so early, but what I have to say cannot wait.” He brought her hand up and kissed her palm. “Marry me, Christine.”

 

Nine

 

Erik paced through his lair, staring at the organ. He did not play. He did not eat. He could not sleep. That wretched Vicomte would not stop tormenting him.

He sat at the edge of the lake, tossing pebbles into the water. An unusually large one hit the surface with a plunk, and he sighed. That was how he felt. Before, when he was supervising the opera house, when he was doing what he wished, he had been skimming across the water. Now, Raoul had made him feel as if he were sinking. Erik’s entire plan had been to use Christine to share his music with the world. Then this Vicomte came along and ruined his plan. Erik had then decided to use Raoul badly, to seduce him to the breaking point, then order him to leave Christine alone. Not only would it hurt Raoul’s father to see his son hurt, but it would also get Raoul out of Christine’s life forever.

Erik gripped the stone in his hand until he felt the blood run down his wrist. That was what he wanted. Revenge and nothing more. There was nothing else. He knew that the insane palpitations he felt in his heart upon seeing Raoul’s face meant nothing.

 

Erik stole through the opera house, unnoticed during the din that occurred before every performance. He had heard shrieking and laughter, joy and happiness…sounds that were still strange to him. He wanted to know what was going on. He snuck down a corridor, moved a tapestry, and stole through the small door into Madame Giry’s room.

The room was empty, but he knew she would return once the first act began. He sat in the chair by her dressing table, but turned away from the mirror.

Thirty minutes later, the door opened. “Erik!” Madame gasped, putting a hand to her throat. “You startled me!”

“What is all this excitement, Theresa?” Erik said, standing. She swallowed.

“An engagement has been announced, Erik.” Madame moved to put some of her clothing away.  
“Who? Not your little Meg. How exciting,” he said with false enthusiasm. He could not understand loving anyone more than he loved his music. The Vicomte’s face fluttered across his mind and he quickly thought of something else.  
“Of course not, Erik! She is too young,” Madame said with a mother’s haste. She turned to face him. “It is Christine, Erik. She and Raoul have announced their engagement.”  
Erik’s face turned even paler than usual. He told himself that it was simply because Christine would soon be unavailable to bring his music to the stage. “I see.”  
“Erik, please do not do anything rash,” Madame begged.  
“I will do nothing to harm Christine, Meg, or yourself, my lady.” Erik took her hand, kissed it, and left her room.

Raoul settled into Box Five, wishing more than anything that they had kept their engagement private. Word had spread like wildfire, and he was sick of pasting on a smile for total strangers. He wondered if it had been the right thing to do, then decided it was. He did care for her, and she obviously loved him. He would get her off the stage and safely into the home of someone who could keep her safe.

He heard the door close behind his chair, and he turned around to say, “I’m sorry, but this box is taken.” No one was there. He sighed and turned around. He had half hoped it was Erik, and half hoped it wasn’t. He knew Erik would not be pleased that Raoul was taking away his voice. He himself was curious if Erik cared that he, Raoul, would no longer be available to him. Not that he WANTED to be available, he said to himself silently.

The orchestra began the overture, and Raoul leaned forward. Suddenly he was pulled back, chair and all, until he was in the shadows of the box. A thick rope went around him, binding him to the back of the chair. 

“What are you doing?” Raoul hissed. “You feel the need to tie me to the chair? People will see…”

“That is exactly why I did it, my Vicomte. So no one would see what I am going to do to you,” Erik hissed in his ear. “Did you forget that I was to meet you here tonight?”

“Yes, actually, it did slip my mind,” Raoul lied.

Erik undid the black ribbon that held back Raoul’s hair. “As fond as I am of black, it does not suit you.” His hands stroked through the honey strands. “I am going to tell you a story.”

“I thought I told you to leave us alone,” Raoul said through gritted teeth.

Erik ignored him, letting his fingers trail across Raoul’s neck and throat. Raoul ordered his disobedient body to stop responding. “Once upon a time, there was a Vicomte. This Vicomte was attractive, and everyone loved him. He had a pretty face and a sharp wit. He knew his place was second, and he enjoyed the benefits and lack of responsibility.”

“I have responsibilities!” Raoul said, and Erik yanked at his hair.

“Quiet! I am not finished.” Erik’s hand moved down across Raoul’s chest, and Raoul couldn’t help but squirm. Erik grinned. “This Vicomte began to loiter at the opera house, flirting with the dancers, enjoying their attentions. One day, however, he found his way into the cellar, and met a ghost wandering the cold corridors.” His hand moved down further and began to undo Raoul’s pants.

Raoul hissed. “Are you mad?”

“No, but I plan on driving you mad,” Erik whispered. Raoul wanted to get up, wanted to run from the box, but his body would not do his bidding. “As I was saying, this Vicomte met the ghost, yet did not run from him. He was intrigued, and soon returned to find the ghost again and again. He flattered the ghost with pretty words, and soon the ghost believed that it was indeed possible for him to come out into the world.” Erik’s hand slipped into Raoul’s pants and Raoul almost jerked out of the chair. Erik stroked him firmly, and Raoul was soon gasping for air. “This Vicomte soon arranged to meet the ghost in an upper room of the opera house, and the ghost agreed. You see, the ghost was eager for affection and attention from any other human being.” Erik bit at Raoul’s ear as he pulled and stroked. “But when the ghost arrived, he found it was all a joke. The Vicomte brought his friends to laugh at the ghost, at the monster in the mask.” Erik rubbed a thumb over the head of Raoul’s cock and he cried out. “Quiet, Vicomte, you do not want to draw attention to us.” Erik bit Raoul’s neck and Raoul came onto Erik’s hand. Erik licked Raoul’s skin one last time and pulled his hand away. 

The rope fell from Raoul’s body and he turned to look at Erik, his entire body trembling. “Why…do you tell me…this?”

Erik stood and smiled grimly. “Do you not know who this Vicomte is? It is your father, Louis. His older brother then died, and he became Count.”

“No.” Raoul shook his head. “Impossible.”

“Ask your father about his friend, Duke Wendham, from London.” Erik turned Raoul back around and Raoul felt Erik’s hands in his hair.

“I know that name…I have met him!” Raoul said, shocked. “I apologize…on his behalf…I did not know.”

“I do not need your apologies, Vicomte.” Erik straightened his cape. “I have given you what you so obviously wanted…and you have given me what I wanted. Go tell your father what you did tonight in Box Five…see his shock, see the shame he feels for having a son who enjoys the touch of a man.”

Raoul quickly arranged his pants and stood as well. “I did not enjoy it. You tied me up and…”

“I never heard you say no,” Erik said. He reached for the doorknob, then turned around. “Congratulations, Vicomte, on your engagement. Let this be war upon you both.” As Erik disappeared, Raoul reached up and pulled a sky blue ribbon from his hair.

 

Ten

 

Raoul did not leave Box Five until the entire house was empty. He slowly made his way down the corridor, not even checking to make sure his buttons and fastenings were all in place.

Raoul fought his way through the well-wishers until he got to Christine’s door. Madame Giry stepped aside so he could enter. “Are you well, Vicomte?”

“Quite,” he murmured, slipping inside and closing the door. Christine turned to smile at him, but her smile froze on her face.

“Raoul, are you all right?”

“Fine,” Raoul said, tugging at his ponytail uncomfortably. “Listen, Christine, I think we should marry immediately.”

“Marry?” Christine pulled her robe tightly around her waist. “I am not prepared, Raoul. I love you, but I owe it to the company to at least finish out the season.”

“I thought you were frightened of your Angel,” he said bitterly. 

“I am, I swear.” She walked over to him, putting her arms around him. “What happened?” Christine stepped back to look at him. “Were you in a fight? Your pants are torn here at the waist, and you are in total disarray.” She brushed her thumb over the waistband of his pants. “And this…”

Raoul looked on in shock as her thumbnail scratched at a dried spot of white. “Nothing.” He quickly stepped back. “And I did not fight. You are right, Christine. This angel is a monster. You would do best to marry me tomorrow and we will move to my father’s estate.”

Christine laughed. “For the first time in my life, Raoul, I am not the poor little traveling singer. I am a star. I am afraid, true, but I feel I should stay on at least through the week.”

Raoul knew, both for the sake of Christine’s safety and his own sanity, that they should leave Paris immediately. He was still unsure that marriage to Christine would save him, though. He knew things had changed, and he needed time to look within himself. This monster had done more than kill a man…he had killed something inside Raoul as well as creating something new. “I must go to my father. There are some things we must discuss,” Raoul said finally. “I will be gone ten days. During that time, do NOT leave this place, Christine. Stay under Madame Giry’s watchful eye at every moment. I believe that this monster plans harm to us both.”

“I will be fine, Raoul. I will stay safe. He will not come for me while I am in her care.” Christine slowly untied her robe until it fell open. Raoul saw the white lingerie underneath. “Kiss me before you go, Raoul.” 

He obediently bent to kiss her forehead. “I will think of you often,” he said truthfully. He bowed and left before she could say another word.

 

As the carriage made its way to the family estate, Raoul thought of Christine. She was confusing him, and he was already confused enough. One moment she was a frightened child on the roof of the opera, and the next minute she was the arrogant star, offering herself to him in her room. He did not understand. He also did not understand why he did not take her up on her offer. She was beautiful. He had bedded less attractive women in his past. Upon sight of her body, nothing stirred inside him the way it had when the hand had slid into his pants and the voice had whispered in his ear.

He shook his head, clearing it of Erik. Instead, he thought about how he would approach his father.

 

“Welcome, sir,” the doorman said, taking Raoul’s hat and cloak.

“Good evening, Geoffrey. How is your wife?” Raoul made sure to ask politely.

“Fine as always, thank you for asking. The Count and your brother are in the drawing room.”

Raoul blinked. “Philippe is here?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Raoul sighed and walked to the drawing room. “Raoul! My son, I did not expect you!” Louis walked over and gave him an embrace that was not warm but was correct.

“Father.” Raoul bowed slightly. “Philippe.”

“How are you, brother?” Raoul’s older brother leaned against the fireplace mantle.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Louis asked, sitting on the chaise.

“I need to speak with you alone, Father.”

“Nothing you can say to me is too terrible for Philippe to hear, my boy,” Louis said.

“I need to speak with you regarding a rumor…at the opera. A ghost is said to roam the basements and cellars.” Raoul watched his father carefully.

“I have heard that, yes.” Louis removed imaginary lint from his suit coat.

“Everyone has, Raoul,” Philippe scoffed.

“I have met him,” Raoul said finally. “He is a tragic figure. One part of his face is covered with a mask. He knows of you, Father.”

“Most people do,” Philippe interrupted, and Louis held up a hand.

“Exactly what did this “monster” say?”

“He said you used him badly…that he opened his heart and mind to you, and you made a fool of him,” Raoul said. He felt anger rising in his heart, but did not dwell on it. “He said that you and your friends, including the Duke of Wendham, made a joke of him, like sport.”

Louis stood and rubbed at his chin. “You believe him.”

“Yes I do, Father. I do not…he does not seem that he would lie at something like this. He knew I would approach you, and that if he was truly lying, I would find out.” Raoul’s eyes did not waiver from his father’s face. “Would you really do that, Father?”

“Raoul!” Philippe gasped. “What is this about? You would believe a supposed monster, someone who haunts a building and possibly kills…over our father?”

Raoul wanted to tell Philippe that Erik really did kill someone, but he did not say it. “Father?”

“He was…is, apparently…a monster. He was nothing but an amusement,” Louis said.

“He thought you were his friend!” Raoul said. “I did not believe at first, but now I truly see…how could you, Father?”

“He was a freak of nature, Raoul…not worth the time it takes you to speak of him.” Louis sighed. “I do not wish to speak of this again. Your rooms, I’m sure, have been prepared as we spoke. I think you should rest from your long journey. Do you plan to stay for a few days?”

“I was going to, but now…” Raoul did not finish his sentence.

“Go up to bed, my son. Things will look better in the morning.” Louis put his hand on Raoul’s shoulder. “Good night.”

“Father…Philippe.” Raoul strode out of the room and headed for his suite. One of his father’s servants helped him undress and unpack. The servant offered to draw him a bath, but he shook his head. He wanted to be alone.

Raoul pulled on a heavy robe and opened the large windows that looked out upon the fields behind the manor house. He leaned on the sill and sighed. He could not believe what had just happened. His father had only enjoyed a bit of fun in his youth, yet here was Raoul, sticking up for the man that murdered without a second thought. The man who did such things to him…that touched him in a way no man should touch another…yet it was a touch that made Raoul yearn for more. Raoul could not get Erik out of his mind…and he knew this was the most dangerous thing that could happen to him.

 

Raoul made it through nine days with his father, and on the tenth he finally left. They had kept up a façade of politeness, though each was infuriated with the other. Raoul could not believe such coldness of his father, to use someone’s deformity for his own enjoyment. When he took care to look, however, he saw the selfish aristocrat that Erik described. After a while, it was easy to see. Against his will, Raoul’s heart ached for the pain Erik had experienced at Louis’ hand.

Louis could not believe that his son would care about this monster of the dungeon. So he had toyed with the man years before. He was surely a man as aged as himself…and what difference did it make.

At breakfast on the day of Raoul’s departure, Louis finally asked the question that had nagged at his brain for days. “What does the man look like now?”

They had danced around the topic for so long that Raoul was taken by surprise. “Of course, I have not seen what is under the mask, but the other side is attractive. Clear blue eyes that pierce, soft shaven skin, hair as dark as the table we sit at…” Raoul blushed. He had not meant to go into that much detail.

“He must dye it,” Louis said with a laugh, patting at his own grey hair. “No wrinkles? My, how lucky time has been to him.”

“No wrinkles, Father. He is my age.”

Louis stared at him, placing his fork on his plate. “My son, he is my age. He must do something to make himself look younger.”

Raoul stared at him. There was no way that Erik was as old as his father. He remembered when they first met, how Erik had asked about his father’s age. “I…I suppose so, Father.” This was something he had not thought of once since Erik had revealed his knowledge of Louis. Raoul tossed his napkin on the table. “I must prepare to leave. Thank you for your hospitality, Father.”

“You are welcome here any time, my son.” Louis stood as well. “This monster seems to have quite a hold on you, Raoul. Is there something you wish to tell me?”

Go tell your father what you did tonight in Box Five…see his shock, see the shame he feels for having a son who enjoys the touch of a man.”

Raoul remembered Erik’s words in Box Five. “No, Father. I bid you farewell.”

 

Upon his return to Paris, Raoul immediately went to the opera house. He went to Christine’s dressing room, but it was empty. He supposed that she was rehearsing on stage. A gown hanging in the corner caught his eye. It was of pink and white lace, obviously not something to be worn in public. A mask hung from the peg nearby. 

Raoul hurried to the stage, taking the stairs two at a time. He stood in the wings while Christine sang, then moved into sight as she finished. “Raoul!” She cried, running over to embrace him. “You have returned!”

“Come with me.” He took her hand and led her offstage. “What is that frock in your room?”

“Oh, that. That was my costume for the gala two days ago.” Christine tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, but he gently removed it.

“Gala?”

“They did not want to have it without you, you see, but thought it was important. After the rumors and accidents, they needed the public to love the opera once more,” Christine explained.

“And you attended?” Raoul could not believe this. A masquerade? Just the sort of place where Erik could do the most harm.

“I stayed with Madame the entire time, or with Meg,” she promised. “And when we went to dinner, what should be there but a box full of music…”

“From your angel?”

Christine nodded. “No one saw him, so I was not frightened, but he left us an opera. We must perform it, or else there will be a great disaster.” Her eyes were dark as she looked at him. “You will be here with me while we rehearse, correct? I will feel safer.”

“Of course,” he said absently, his mind on Erik and his opera.

“Oh! And he left notes for everyone, except me…there is one for you.” Christine led him to her dressing chamber. She opened a drawer and handed him a small envelope. Raoul saw his name written in an unfamiliar hand. He put the note in his pocket.

“Later. Now I will return you to the stage. I have not yet returned home, and I have some things I must do. I promise from now on to attend every rehearsal.”

He led her back to the stage, then went to his carriage. He made sure that the coachman had urged the horses into motion before opening the envelope.

Vicomte,  
Did your father tell you the truth? Or did he lie, as most aristocrats seem to do? I know you will stay with Miss Daae, to protect her from me. Do as you wish…but you cannot be with her every second of the day.

Do not attend her while she rehearses the love song in Act II, or you will never see her again.

Erik

 

Eleven

 

For the next few days, Raoul practically lived at the opera house. He sat in the wings while Christine rehearsed. He sat outside her chamber while she changed clothes. He slept on a chair outside her dormitory while she slept inside.

“Monsieur Vicomte,” Madame Giry said, pulling him aside as Christine walked to the stage one morning.

“What! I need to go with her,” Raoul said, trying to remain polite as he moved to follow Christine.

“No.” 

Raoul stared at her. “You’re on his side, are you?”

Madame did not answer that question. “He asked you not to attend her while she practices the duet, correct?”

“How…”

“Come. Sit with an old woman.” She tucked her hand in his arm, and led him out of the theater area and into a small sitting room. His ears strained to hear the rehearsal, but the thick doors kept all sound within. “I am not as young as I used to be.”

“You are no old woman,” Raoul said immediately, and she laughed.

“Thank you, Vicomte.” Madame sighed, looking at her hands. “What you said a moment ago…it is true, yet it is not. I am not on the side of a murderer.” Raoul stared at her. “I am on the side of the boy that I helped so many years ago. He was abused, Vicomte. Made to show the horror that God gave him at his birth. He was beaten, and starved. He never knew love.”

“You love him?”

“Yes, but not in the way you think. I love him as my brother. Sometimes as a son…he is so naïve, Vicomte. He has the brain of a genius, but the soul of a child.”

“What is under the mask?”

“That I cannot tell you.” Madame looked away from him. “I have not seen it these twenty years…but I know what it was like. It has burned his soul into something fearful. Not with me, mind you…he has been nothing but respectful to me, in payment for saving me, it seems.”

“I worry for Christine,” Raoul said finally.

“You love her, as I love Erik,” Madame said.

“What? No…I love her as my fiancée.

“That I do not believe, Monsieur Vicomte, but I will not argue with you.” Madame stood. “I should not tell you this, but it has been heavy on my heart. I trust Erik told you about your father and how he treated him?”

“Yes, Madame Giry,” Raoul said, hanging his head. “I am so ashamed…I did not know he was capable of such coldness.”

“Erik wanted to hate you in the same fashion. He wanted to make you pay, to use you ill in the same manner.”

“He…he did, Madame,” Raoul said softly, his face burning with guilt.

“No, he has not,” Madame said, tipping his face up with her hand under his chin. “You care for him. You feel shame for your father’s sins…that is something only a caring person would do. And Erik…he may have done something to you, but he has not used you. He will not speak of you to me…you have done something to him that no one has ever done. You have confused him.” She turned and walked towards the theater. “Come, Vicomte, and ask me no more questions. The duet is done.”

 

Over the next two weeks, everyone continued to receive letters from Erik. Christine received letters of instruction, though Erik made no attempt to see her. The managers received scathing letters of insult, telling them exactly how they should run his theater. Even Carlotta and Piangi were not free of the torment, and their letters were worst of all.

Because of this, Carlotta was in a foul mood during the last few rehearsals, and she took it out on Christine. Christine, however, kept her head held high. She knew this would be her most shining role, and she would not let Carlotta ruin it for her.

Raoul did not receive one word from Erik, and he felt the loss keenly. He was still confused, but he wanted to talk to this Phantom. He wanted to talk to him without cages or rope or anything that would keep them from speaking as two men, instead of man and monster. He had almost made up his mind to return to the cellar lair to find him, but decided against it. Christine needed him by her side. He would deal with Erik later.

“It is not necessary for you to sleep out here on a chair,” Christine told him the night before the premiere of Don Juan. 

“I must protect you,” Raoul insisted, sitting down and getting comfortable. “It is what I vowed to do when I gave you that ring.”

“I only meant that you could…sleep in here.” Christine smiled at him as she leaned in the doorway. “There is plenty of room.”

Raoul gulped. “I…appreciate the offer, Christine, but you know it is not correct. I…well…I would become distracted and could not protect you as I should.”

“Oh, Raoul.” Christine bent down and gave him a kiss. “You are wonderful.” She went into the room and shut the door.

“Yes, wonderful,” Raoul muttered. “I promise to protect you, promise to be with you all of our lives, yet my body and soul yearns for another.”

He fidgeted, trying to get comfortable. He cursed himself for forgetting his heavy coat. He could have used it both as a pillow and a blanket. Raoul moved the chair closer to one of the heavy beams and leaned his head against it. Sleep did not come quickly, but when it did, he slept so heavily that he would never have heard an intruder.

This was why it surprised him to wake up six hours later to find a heavy black cloak draped over his body. He held the cloak up to his face, inhaling the dark scent that belonged to only one person.

 

Twelve

 

Raoul leaned over the side of Box Five to get a better view of the audience. They were shaking their heads and grimacing as the second act of Don Juan Triumphant began. They had politely sat through the first act, but the music in the second was like nothing they had heard before. Raoul had been a bit shocked upon hearing it during rehearsals, but before long it had grown on him. He liked its uniqueness, and the underlying passion that filled the orchestrations. He had heard Erik’s music firsthand, knew the spell it could cast. 

He smiled as Christine was revealed by the raising curtain. She wore a black and red peasant’s dress, though Raoul knew that he had never seen a peasant girl dressed in such a revealing fashion. He knew nothing about this scene; it was the scene that Erik had ordered him not to watch during rehearsals. 

“No thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy…no dreams within her heart but dreams of love…” Christine sang almost shyly, looking up at Box Five. Many in the audience followed her gaze and smiled fondly at this expression of young love. Raoul blushed and moved out of their sight, back into the darkness of the box.

Piangi’s character moved onto the stage, preparing to seduce the young peasant girl. Raoul stood and hurried to the front of the box as the tenor began to sing. It was not Piangi…and Raoul recognized the words.

“You have come here, in pursuit of your deepest urge, in pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent…I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge…in your mind you’ve already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me…now you are here with me…”

Raoul threw the door open and hurried out of the box. He closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down and remember the way that Madame had showed him. He quickly began to run down the corridor, going through a door and down many steps until he was near the dressing room. Now he knew where he was. He took another set of steps two at a time until he was in the wings of the stage. Actors and actresses took note of his presence, but did not say anything. The Vicomte de Chagney had full run of the opera house.

“What raging fire shall flood the soul?” Erik was singing. “What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us?” He held Christine in his arms, but his eyes were fixed on Raoul.

“Good God,” Raoul whispered. “What are you doing?”

Christine began to sing, and Raoul could only stare as she continued with her performance. It was obvious that her partner on stage was not Piangi. She had to know it. Yet she went on like nothing was wrong. They caressed each other while she sang, and Raoul could only glare. He knew he should be offended; that was his fiancée that the murderer was touching…yet that wasn’t why his hands were clenched. Her hands ran across Erik’s body in a way that Raoul could only dream of.

They sang together, “Past the point of no return…the final threshold…the bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn…we’ve passed the point of no return…”

Erik cradled Christine’s face in his hands, yet his eyes never left the wings. “Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime…lead me, save me from my solitude…say you want me with you, here, beside you…anywhere you go, let me go too…”

Raoul gulped and took a step forward. More than anything, at that moment, he wanted to be with Erik. It was like he was under a spell. All he could think of was Erik…his hands, his eyes, his mouth, his music.

He was shaken from the trance by Christine, who slid her hands up and yanked the black costume mask from Erik’s face. The audience gasped in horror as the terrible face was revealed. Raoul stared in awe. The left side so handsome, so perfect. The right side looked burned, as if someone had held the face down to a hot stovetop. The eye drooped, and made the genius look a fool. No wonder he wore the mask. No wonder he hid from the world.

Erik’s gaze met Raoul’s, and an expression of infinite sadness crossed his face. He grabbed Christine, yanked at a rope, and jumped with her into the trapdoor in the stage floor. Without a thought, Raoul jumped in after them. He heard the sound of chains screaming above him as he fell.

He landed in a room of doors. The room was round, and eight doors lined the walls. They were all locked, and behind them he could hear various sounds. Behind one he heard running water. Behind another, an animal growling. Raoul knew this was some sort of a trick, and finally stopped before the door with the growling. He kicked at it once, twice, and finally broke it down. The corridor behind it was empty. No animal, no monster. Relieved that he had guessed correctly, Raoul ran down the passage, remembering to keep his hand at the level of his eyes.

He heard voices as he approached the now-familiar lair. “How could you do this to me, you spiteful witch? I gave everything to you, taught your voice to fly!”

“You are a murderer. You took all I had, and used it to kill!” Christine shouted. Raoul crept along the passage and peeked into the cavern. There was an iron portcullis between him and the couple. Erik had his back to him, and Christine was standing to the side, unharmed, yet furious. “You would go on stage with me by killing someone?”

“I did not mean to kill him…it was simply necessary,” Erik explained. He tore the shirt of his costume off, replacing it with a white ruffled dress shirt. Raoul tried not to look at the naked skin of his chest, but could not help it. “My opera will never be forgotten.”

“I am sure you will not forget it while you rot in jail!” Christine shrieked. “You are a criminal. They will find you and put you where you belong.”

“Your fiancé did not seem to think me a criminal while we spent time together in Box Five.” Erik smiled at her pleasantly but his eyes were anything but friendly.

“You lie.” Christine took a few steps back. “Raoul loves me.”

“I do not doubt it.” Erik picked up a white mask, then put it back down. “As a sister, I am sure he loves you.”

“He asked me to marry him!”

“To keep you safe…and to try to convince himself that a life with you was what he wanted…because it is what he SHOULD do.” Erik turned away from her, and Raoul was shocked by the pain on his face. “I gave you everything I had, Christine. I gave you my very soul, by way of my music…and you unmask my horror, showing it to the world. They will never hear my music without seeing my face.”

“You are a murderer, and apparently some sort of perverted monster,” she shot back. “You make up these stories about Raoul…I do not understand.”

“Wait…I think, my dear, we have a guest.” Erik’s head whipped around as Raoul stepped to the portcullis. “Sir, I had rather hoped that you would come.”

“Christine!” Raoul called out, his hand reaching between the grates of the portcullis. “Are you hurt?”

“No! Raoul, he has been saying simply dreadful things!” Christine gasped. “I believe he hates you!”

Erik raised the portcullis, and Raoul stepped through. He heard the steel crash into the water behind him. “Let her go,” Raoul snarled. “You are angry, I understand. Let her live.”

“I plan on letting HER live,” Erik said, and Raoul gulped for breath as a thick rope encircled his neck.

“Raoul!” Christine screamed. 

“You were wrong, Christine.” Erik’s hand slid down to press against Raoul’s chest. “I do not hate your Vicomte. I hate you.” Erik’s hand slid lower.

“Don’t!” Raoul gasped. “Not in front of her. Please, give me this. Do not embarrass us all.”

Erik moved so his face was inches from Raoul’s. “Tell me why I should not air our sordid secret to your precious fiancée.”

“I need to talk to you…please…before they do find you,” Raoul whispered. Erik blinked at the concern in Raoul’s voice.

“What is going on here?” Christine asked. “You speak as intimate friends…you ask for mercy, Raoul?”

Erik moved aside, and Raoul looked at Christine. “Christine, speak no more,” Raoul begged. “For both of our sakes.”

Erik smiled at Christine, then looked at Raoul. “You try my patience. You want to talk, fine. We will talk.” He went to Christine and grabbed her arm. “After I take care of this serpent in our midst.”

“No!” Raoul struggled to get free. “Do not harm her!”

“You wish me to save the woman you love?” Erik looked at him with amusement. “The woman you wish to marry!”

“Yes!” Raoul howled. He did love her, though not as he should. “Please,” he begged.

Erik looked at Christine. “From this moment, you are cursed,” he said to her. “I have lived many years, and learned many things. Any performance you attempt will end in disaster. Any crowd who comes to see you will not leave alive.”

“You are pure evil,” Christine whispered. 

“Go through that door, and you will find yourself in the alley behind the opera house. Go quickly, as the fire upstairs will soon block all the exits.” Erik gave her a brutal shove in the direction he indicated.

“Fire?” Raoul whispered. “You have killed again?”

Erik ignored him. “Go now. Go now and leave us.”

“I refuse to leave without Raoul,” Christine said. She ran in Raoul’s direction. Erik caught her and pushed her away.

“Your Vicomte is mine now, Christine.”

“Go, Christine,” Raoul said weakly. “Tell my father and brother…tell them I died in the fire,” he finished. “They need not know.”

Christine looked at him for a long moment. “He speaks the truth…you let him…”

“Christine, please do not…” Raoul began.

Christine tugged the ring from her finger and threw it at him. “It is no great difficulty for you to stay here…to offer yourself for my sake…”

Raoul did not know what to say. Erik spoke for him. “If you do not leave this very second, you will not leave this building alive,” Erik hissed.

Christine left without another word. “Go, Christine,” Raoul whispered to himself, hanging his head. His arms ached from their bound position, and he felt as if every ounce of energy had left his body.

Erik looked at him with a dangerous grin. “So…what to do with the pretty Vicomte?”

 

Thirteen

 

Raoul drew the strength to raise his head. He said nothing, just studied the face before him. Erik seemed almost uncomfortable in front of Raoul’s gaze, but he did not turn away. Instead, he stood up straighter, crossed his arms over his broad chest, and gave Raoul an arrogant glare.

“Are you satisfied now? You see what I try to hide…see what made another man use me as a plaything?”

“Please do not mention my father,” Raoul said wearily. He did not look away from the face in front of him. He took in every inch of skin, though he did not see what others saw. Instead of seeing the charred remains of a profile, he instead noticed the handsomeness of the unmarred side. Instead of seeing an arrogant blue eye fiercely staring at him, he saw the infinite sadness in the left eye. He looked past the side that made Erik look like someone of limited intelligence, and instead remembered the true genius that came from the unharmed hands and active brain. “I know the world has treated you ill. I know that you truly are not the monster that you appear to be. Madame Giry has told me this. Yet I know you have killed. I know you would kill again. I know that somehow, upstairs, you have killed innocent people.”

“The chandelier,” Erik said in a bored tone. He walked over to a small table and picked up one of his many masks. “I brought down the chandelier.”

“Don’t!” Raoul said suddenly, before he knew the words were coming out of his mouth. “The mask…it is not necessary. I cannot believe it is comfortable.”

Erik snorted. “Since when would a Vicomte care about my comfort?” But he did not put on the mask. He returned to the portcullis, leaning against it. “You wanted to talk.”

“You would kill the woman you loved?” Raoul asked. He made no move to avoid looking at the disfigured side of Erik’s face. “True, she unmasked you to the world, in more ways than one, but you love her. I would think that someone like yourself, who has not known…”

“Do not attempt to understand my mind and soul!” Erik spat. “And love? Love Christine?” He stalked away, moving across the room to his organ. “I love what she is to me.” He waved sheet music in the air. “THIS is what I love. She is a mere mortal, an instrument just like a violin, an oboe, a trumpet.” Erik lovingly shuffled the papers into a neat pile. “As for loving her…I cannot. What I mean to say is…” He allowed his eyes to meet Raoul’s. “The love of a woman is not something I crave. As a mother, yes…and Madame Giry has been excellent in that capacity. My preference of men over women is yet another thing that has caused a chasm between myself and the rest of the world.” Raoul could only blink. “You are surprised.”

“I just…” Raoul shrugged his shoulders as best he could. “I assumed you were simply using me to…”

“I was,” Erik interrupted. “But that is not to say I did not enjoy myself.” Raoul blushed and Erik smiled a sincere smile. “I told you once that you were beautiful. I never stopped thinking it. It only amused me even more to watch you fight your urges.”

“That is what I wanted to speak with you about,” Raoul said bravely. “But first…my arms tire…I can barely speak for the pain of being held in such an unnatural position. You know I cannot fight you. And I cannot escape.”

“Of course not,” Erik said pleasantly. “The door which Christine used will now be closely watched, and every other exit is blocked by fire.” He watched Raoul swallow deeply. “But you are correct. There is no need to hold you there, although it is a very sensual and attractive thought, having you at my mercy, held down against your will.” Raoul swallowed again, but this time Erik could see the lust in Raoul’s eyes. “Very well.” He tugged at one knot, and the entire rope fell into the lake, slapping at the surface. Raoul’s eyes widened.

“That…that was all it took?”

“Sometimes the key to the complex things in life is simplicity.” Erik watched as Raoul massaged blood into his arms and hands. “Sit here.” He motioned to a nearby chair, and Raoul sat down. “I told you that black does not suit you.” Erik slowly removed the ribbon from Raoul’s hair. Raoul closed his eyes and forbade himself from leaning into Erik’s touch.

“What do you plan on doing with me?” Raoul said finally. Erik picked up a similar chair and placed it in front of Raoul’s, turning it around so he could lean his arms on the back.

“Are you hungry?”

“What? No, thank you.”

“Some wine?”

“No, thank you,” Raoul repeated, somewhat shocked by Erik’s sudden hospitality. “As I was saying…”

“What I am going to do with you and what I would like to do with you are certainly two very different things,” Erik said, and Raoul sucked in a breath. Erik was flirting with him.

“Well, we do seem to have all the time in the world, now that we are sealed in here by the very flames of hell,” Raoul replied cautiously. He was rewarded by a sound he had never heard…a true laugh from Erik.

“Touché.” 

“You were correct in your lyrics. I have completely succumbed to you…in a fashion I never thought possible.” Erik drew back as Raoul met his gaze. Emotions he had never seen directed at him filled Raoul’s eyes. “I think of you daily, and in the evening…I am ashamed to tell you the dreams I have concerning you. I know what you are, and yet I justify it to myself. I know…well, I cannot say that. I can only imagine the hell your life has been. I believe it has caused you to become what you have…you had no other choice.”

“You lust after me as a challenge…as an experiment,” Erik said, jumping to his feet. 

“No,” Raoul exclaimed, jumping up as well. “It is more than that. I want to help you.”

“Pity,” Erik said, whirling around. “I do not need your pity, Vicomte.”

“Call me by my name,” Raoul said. “No more of this Vicomte nonsense. Above and beyond a title, I am a man!” He caught Erik by the sleeve and fisted the fabric in his hand. Erik stared at Raoul’s hand. “I am a man, who wants…you.” Raoul took a deep breath after his admission. “I want you. Everything about you. I do not care of what you are now, but only of what you could be if someone loved you.”

Erik looked away, laughing out loud. This laugh was bitter. “And you love me.”

“I could,” Raoul said. “You are a challenge. You are an experiment. And I pity you. But that is not everything…just as you are not only a killer and a genius. There is more to you…and more to what I feel for you.”

“You would take this chance?” Erik whispered, and Raoul could feel Erik’s arm tremble in his grasp. 

“I am taking it right now,” Raoul whispered.

 

Fourteen

 

Erik looked at Raoul for a long moment, and Raoul wondered if had said the wrong thing. Erik slowly stepped away, making Raoul’s hand slide down his arm. He caught Raoul’s hand in his, and led him across the room. Raoul had never been to this part of Erik’s lair, the part that he obviously lived in. Clothing lay neatly folded in a cupboard, and Raoul saw soap and other toiletries. A large bed in the shape of a swan dominated this corner of the room. It was the same bed Erik had pushed him onto the night he had written “Past the Point of No Return.”

Erik stopped by the foot of the bed and looked at Raoul. “I believe that…I perhaps caused you to feel things you did not truly feel. For that I apologize. I appreciate…I appreciate everything you have said and done,” Erik finished in a whisper. “It is not necessary for you to say such things to me…I…I planned on releasing you all along.”

Raoul stared at him. Erik was apologizing…and saying thank you. “Erik, stop. I do not need to hear this.”

“I need to say it.” Erik picked up Raoul’s hand and studied it. “I have never had anyone, beside Madame, treat me like a human being. You have treated me as a true human…like I have a soul. I sometimes wondered if I still had one…yet you seem to see it.”

“I do,” Raoul said. “I told you that I saw more than a murderer. Granted, I cannot condone that, but you had your reasons.”

“I am a virgin,” Erik said suddenly, and Raoul blinked. “I have wanted men from afar…even fancied myself in love once…but of course no one would touch me.” His sad eyes turned to Raoul. “What I did with you that night was the only time I ever touched…”

“You are untouched in more ways than one,” Raoul said softly. 

“I do not know if I can let myself go like this,” Erik said. “I have never…”

“It is not a matter of you letting go,” Raoul interrupted. “It is a matter of letting me in.”

Erik’s eyes grew wide as Raoul’s hand reached up to caress his marred cheek. Raoul’s slender fingers slowly traced along the ridges and gaps of skin. “Do not…”

“I want to,” Raoul whispered. His thumb drew along the bridge of Erik’s nose as his fingers learned Erik’s scarred cheek. “You are truly beautiful, you know. You have such power, such amazing genius…” Raoul leaned in and kissed Erik, totally playing the situation by ear. He heard Erik gasp and felt him shudder. Raoul smiled against Erik’s mouth and pressed his body against the other man’s. “I am also new to all this. I have never felt the touch of a man…except that night with you…and I have never been in love.”

Erik’s trembling hand ran through Raoul’s smooth hair. “Then we are virgins together, yes?” His hand cupped Raoul’s neck as he moved in to kiss Raoul again.

“Oh, yes,” Raoul moaned, leaning in so quickly that they lost their balance and fell onto the bed.

Raoul loved the feeling of Erik’s body pushing him into the soft mattress. His hands fought with the hem of Erik’s shirt. He needed to feel Erik’s skin beneath his hands. Erik straddled Raoul’s waist with his knees and whipped the shirt over his head. Raoul had seen the chest beneath when Erik was bathing one night, but now he could touch it. Before lying down once more, Erik grabbed Raoul’s shirt in his fists and ripped it in two. Raoul gasped, partly in shock and partly in passion. Erik lay down again, and as their skin met he let out a hiss.

“You are perfect.” Erik’s words were a breath in Raoul’s ear as his hands traveled across Raoul’s skin. “Too perfect…I never thought I would…”

Raoul felt the tears on his shoulder before he heard the sobs in Erik’s voice. “Erik…it is all right…let it out. You are allowed to weep.” He brought his arm around Erik’s back, and held him as he sobbed. “Let it out.”

Erik wept for a short while, then his hands resumed their path across Raoul’s body. “I must feel every part of you…help me purge the demons…”

“They will not be purged immediately,” Raoul began, arching his back as Erik’s leg settled between his own and nudged up slightly. “But…God…we will try…”

Erik pushed Raoul’s arms up until his hands rested on the bed above his head. He held Raoul’s wrists with one hand as the other fisted in Raoul’s hair. “Are you not frightened, Vicomte?” The blue eyes were innocent with wonder. “After all this, I could still harm you.”

“The only pain you will give me is the sort I welcome,” Raoul said, staring Erik in the eye. 

“You have truly succumbed,” Erik whispered, rocking his body against Raoul’s.

“I believe…you have…as well…” Raoul gasped. He pulled his arm free and used his hand to hold Erik’s head in place. “Stop…talking…”

Erik obeyed, releasing Raoul’s other hand. Raoul’s hands moved across Erik’s back until they settled on his backside. Raoul guided Erik’s body even tighter against him, until they both panted for breath. Raoul suddenly shoved Erik aside and jumped up from the bed.

“What…what…” Erik looked at him with dazed eyes. “You would dare leave me now?”

Raoul chuckled at the anger in Erik’s eyes. He was no longer afraid of this man. “I am not leaving you. I may never leave you.” Raoul pulled off his boots, then slowly undid the fastenings on his pants. He stepped out of everything and stood naked before Erik. “You need not undress, but I could not bear the fabric even one more second.” Raoul blushed slightly, then lay back down on the bed.

“Good God,” Erik whispered, letting his fingers trail over Raoul’s body. “You are a true work of art.” His mouth followed his hands, and soon Raoul’s moans had Erik squirming as well. He stood and quickly pulled off his pants and boots.

“You are…” Raoul began.

“Please, do not say beautiful,” Erik interrupted. “I know it is not true, and you do not need to use lovely words to get what you want.”

“I would not do that,” Raoul insisted. “I believe the saying is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I behold you, and I see beauty.” His hand slid down Erik’s stomach. “And perhaps someday I will get you to see it, too.”

“Raoul!” Erik cried out as Raoul’s hand rested between Erik’s legs. “No one…”

“Shhh,” Raoul whispered, kissing Erik again as his hand worked. 

“Oh, God, I wish…” Erik stopped himself, biting his lip.

“What do you wish, love?” The endearment flowed from Raoul’s mouth before he could stop it.

“I wish…I want…” Erik rolled to press himself over Raoul. 

Raoul understood. “And we will do that…someday. But for right now…I owe you all the ecstasy you gave me that night.”

Erik’s eyes rolled back into his head as Raoul quickly repaid the favor. He collapsed, exhausted, onto the bed, and fell asleep with his arms around his Vicomte. Everything from Christine to the fire above was forgotten.

 

Fifteen

 

Raoul yawned and stretched, his naked skin slinking along the sheets. He smiled before opening his eyes, reaching over to touch Erik. His hand instead touched a cold bed. 

Raoul sat up and opened his eyes in one motion. The sheets were cold, meaning Erik had left the bed hours ago. “Erik?” Raoul called. Perhaps Erik was simply lurking in the shadows, working on another masterpiece. Raoul stood, bending over to pick up his pants. As he picked them up, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Raoul calmly dressed before reading the note, though his stomach was fluttering.

Raoul,  
I apologize for taking the coward’s way out, though I do believe it is for the best. I do not have the courage to tell this to you in person, as brave as I believe I am.  
Last night was something I could never have dreamt of, and it is something I will remember my whole life long. No one has ever accepted me as you did last night, and you did indeed help to chase some of my demons back to hell.  
I release you to your life as it was before. Find a wonderful woman and marry well. Be the Vicomte I know you were born to be. You will find a hidden corridor behind the mirror near the organ. It will take you to the road west of the opera house. Leave immediately; I doubt anyone will be around to see you early in the morning.  
Thank you for everything…I could not have asked for more.  
Sincerely,

Erik (O.G.)

 

The letter was signed with a flourish, and strange blotted marks blurred some of the letters. Raoul’s first impulse was to take a nearby candle and burn the hateful page, but he then decided against it. He wanted this last piece of Erik.

Raoul pulled on his boots, grabbed the nearest candelabra, and headed for the mirror Erik had indicated. Carefully lifting it off the wall, he found a small tunnel carved in the thick stone wall. He leaned the mirror against the organ, and began to heft himself into the tunnel. He then changed his mind and climbed back down. Raoul paced for a moment, trying to control his anger and disappointment. Finally his feelings got the best of him, and he punched the mirror with his bare hand. Glass flew, as did blood. 

“Damn you, Erik the Opera Ghost. May you burn in hell where you belong.” Raoul then climbed into the hole and made his way as best he could with one hand.

He did not see the figure crouching in the shadows, did not hear the sobs that soon echoed through the large chamber.

 

“Monsieur Vicomte!” Joseph came hurrying down the large staircase. “I thought…we heard about the fire and…”

“I am fine.” Raoul wearily closed the front door of his home and leaned against it. “I am in need of a bath, as well as some liniment and bandages.” He looked at his hand as he slowly flexed his fingers painfully.

“Of course. It will be done immediately. Do you wish to eat?”

“No.” Raoul waved a hand. “Do as I asked, and then I wish to be left alone.”

“Yes, Vicomte.” Joseph headed for the kitchen as Raoul slowly climbed the stairs.

He undressed and pulled on a robe. He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the supplies and bath. Joseph soon appeared, carrying a small box and followed by servants carrying Raoul’s bathtub and bath supplies. The bath was prepared, and Joseph offered to attend to Raoul’s injured hand. Raoul waved him away and the servants left.

“I do not wish to be interrupted. Not for anything. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Vicomte.”

“And Joseph…bring me three bottles of the strongest liquor in the cabinet,” Raoul called as Joseph made to leave the room.

“Monsieur, you have not eaten I am sure, and…”

“Do as I say!” Raoul growled.

Joseph, shocked by the anger of the normally gentle Vicomte, could only nod and close the door as he left. Raoul disrobed and slipped into the hot water. Only when he was totally submerged did he allow himself to weep.

When his tears were gone, and he was left with only the gnawing in his stomach, he washed himself thoroughly and soaked in the tub for almost an hour. When the water was finally too cool to be comfortable, he stood and dried himself. He dressed in a pair of cotton sleeping pants, ignoring the slippers that peeked out from under the bed. Joseph had returned with the liquor during Raoul’s bath, placing it on a table without a word. Raoul grabbed a bottle, opened it, and climbed on the bed with full intent to get drunk beyond belief.

 

It was not yet nightfall when a knock on the door startled Raoul out of his drunken stupor. He stumbled to open it. “I TOLD you not to disturb me,” Raoul said, glaring at Joseph. “Did I not speak in a language you are familiar with?”

“I know, Vicomte, and I offer a thousand apologies.” Joseph fidgeted in the doorway. “It is a messenger from your father. He is down by the door.”

“My father. Wonderful.” Raoul leaned his head against the door as the world spun. “Tell him to go away. I am in no mood to receive visitors.”

“I would, Vicomte, but…” Joseph sighed. “You must hear his message yourself.”

“Fine.” Raoul slammed the door and soon returned with a robe over his naked chest. “Let us get this over with. I am only halfway through the second bottle.”

“Very well, Monsieur,” Joseph replied, looking at him strangely.

Joseph helped his master down the stairs, and Raoul made it to the bottom in one piece. “You need to speak with me?”

“I am sorry to disturb you, Vicomte,” the messenger said. In his drunken haze, Raoul vaguely recognized him as one of his father’s lower servants.

“Is it…Michael?” Raoul struggled to a small chair near the door. He felt better once he was sitting.

“Yes, Vicomte, thank you for remembering.” The young man turned his hat in his hands, biting at his bottom lip. It was then that Raoul noticed the black smudges on the man’s arms and face.

“You dare come to a Vicomte looking filthy?” Raoul spat.

“That…that is why I am here, Vicomte.” Tears streaked down the man’s cheeks, running through the soot. “There…there was a fire…early this morning…I was sent to you as soon I could be spared. Your…father…and brother were still in bed…we…we could not…” The man broke into sobs. “Only four of us survived, Monsieur. Everyone gone…the maids…the cooks…the upstairs servants…”

Raoul closed his eyes as the room spun. What kind of hatred did God have for him? “You are telling me…that my father and brother are dead?”

“Yes, sir…I am truly sorry.”

Joseph crossed himself. “My sympathies, Vicomte.”

Raoul pulled himself to his feet. “Joseph, make sure Michael has water to wash in, and food to fill his stomach. If he wishes, give him a place to rest. Then send him back to my father’s estate, with a letter. Seal the letter with my personal seal, giving him the right to oversee the clean up of any remains of the manor.”

“Me? Oh, Vicomte…”

“Did anyone ask you to come to me?” Raoul said quickly.

“N-no, Vicomte. I was the least injured, and I knew by the time the constables arrived…”

“This is why I entrust you with this responsibility. Let the constables know that they may call on me regarding the…bodies…at their earliest convenience.” Raoul climbed the staircase without another word. 

Joseph directed Michael to the kitchens, and hurried after his master. “Monsieur, Vicomte…wait…”

“What?” Raoul froze with his hand on the doorknob of his rooms.

“I…it is only…you may want to…ah…sober somewhat,” Joseph said tactfully. 

“And why is that? I have had the most horrible disappointment, and now this? My father and brother are dead, or did you miss that?”

“That is just it,” Joseph said softly, ignoring the barb. “You are now Count de Chagney.”

 

Sixteen  
A week later

 

Raoul stood above the graves, watching as the dirt was tossed onto the coffins with a dull thud. Most people would not watch the dirt fly, but Raoul needed to see it, needed to see that they were really gone. No one approached him; the look on his face was so awful that not one friend wanted to come and give their condolences. For this Raoul was grateful. He felt like he would begin to scream in agony if one hand touched his skin. He wondered if this was how Erik felt. He shook his head ever so slightly, shoving Erik from his brain. The monster was no longer a part of his life. 

A hand on his arm made him jump, and at the last minute he recognized the rings and did not move. He slowly placed his hand over the more feminine one on his elbow. “Marie,” he said softly. Bright blue eyes looked at him through the smoky veil.

“Raoul.” The hand tightened on his arm. “I can hardly bear it.”

“Are you sure you do not wish to stay in Paris? I can find you a suite,” Raoul began, but his sister-in-law shook her head.

“Too many memories here.” She looked around the cemetery. “I need to be somewhere he is not.” Marie smiled sadly. “You will be a good Count. I always thought so. Sometimes I wished Philippe and I could go somewhere and just be two people in love. Have children, raise them simply.” She sighed. “Now I get part of my wish.” Marie raised the veil and kissed Raoul’s cheek. “Be careful, Raoul. Live your life with the title, not for it.” She squeezed his arm once more and headed for the boulevard, where a carriage was waiting to take her from the city.

Raoul watched her go, then turned to the priest, who approached him for a few final words. Raoul handed the man the required payment in a small envelope, then got away as soon as he could. His carriage was parked on the opposite side of the cemetery. He had not wanted to deal with anyone if could help it.

He stopped short as a figure stepped out from behind a large monument. The veiled hat was removed, and Raoul stared at the woman. “Christine?”

“I did not come here for you,” she said quickly, then bit at her lip. “That is not entirely true. I knew you would be here, but I was not at the service. My father…” she motioned over her shoulder. “He rests here as well.” She took a step towards him. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” he said nervously. “I did not think you were still in Paris.”

“I can feel that he is gone,” she said softly. “I feel safe now.”

Raoul’s hand tightened around the head of his cane. He did not feel that Erik was gone. He knew in his heart that the evil genius had never left Paris. “You look well.”

“I wish I could say the same,” she said gently. “You are pale, and have lost weight.”

“I have suffered a double loss,” he snapped. “I beseech you to not judge me.”

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

Raoul sighed. “It was good to see you, Christine.” He moved past her and continued on his way.

“Raoul! Wait!” He heard her footsteps behind him but did not turn around. “I would like to talk to you. Could we dine together sometime?”

Raoul slowly turned to face her. “There is one thing I refuse to discuss. His name will not be spoken. We will not mention one thing about him. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“I must meet with the executors of my father’s estate tomorrow. I will meet you for lunch on the Rue Paris at one.”

“At one, then,” she said, and he left without another word.

 

The next morning, Raoul’s tray arrived at nine, as usual. On it were his eggs and meat, as well as a pitcher of coffee and a bottle of bourbon. This was the breakfast Raoul had requested since the night of the fire that took his father and brother, and Joseph served it, though he hated to see his young master so out of his mind.

“You may take this, Joseph.” Raoul struggled to sit up, then handed Joseph the bottle.

“Very well, Vicom…I mean, Count de Chagney.” Joseph eagerly did as his master asked.

“I will be eating out after my meeting,” Raoul said with his mouth full. “I am meeting a friend at a café and I do not know when I will return. Do not prepare dinner.”

“Very well.” 

 

He had no problem picking Christine out of the crowd at the café. Her dark hair flowed down her back, which made him smile against his will. She never did like to bind it up under her hat if necessary.

“Have you waited long?” He asked as he approached the table by the street.

“No. I have only been here a minute.” 

He sat across from her and tossed his napkin over his lap. “You have been singing, I saw in the newspaper.”

“Yes…it keeps me sane.” Christine gave her order to the waiter, as did Raoul.

“What did you wish to speak about?” Raoul looked at her expectantly. “You are not so quick to forgive, and the last I saw you, you were quite angry.”

“I believed that you…I know you asked me not to speak of him, but I must!” She burst out quietly. “I believed that you and he were involved in some sort of sordid affair. I know now that you were not, or you would have left with him.”

“Indeed,” Raoul said, giving away nothing, though his heart was breaking yet again.

“I was confused…and so angry,” she said with a sigh. The wine was poured, and Raoul took a large gulp. “And then I was worried for your safety, but when your father’s death was announced, I found that you were alive.”

“And a Count,” he interrupted, and she nodded.

“Yes, a Count. I am happy for you.”

“Happy for the fact that I inherited a greater title due to the death of my father and brother. Thank you SO much, Christine,” he said sarcastically, drinking more wine. Why he had sobered up to meet with her was beyond his understanding.

“I am sorry,” she stammered. “I did not mean…”

“WHY did you want to speak with me?” Raoul put his glass down and looked her in the eye. “I know you still doubt me…and I did not see policemen running to save me after you climbed to safety. I assume you did not tell them I was still down below.”

“I thought you had no way out!” She exclaimed. “And that you did not WANT to come out.”

Raoul ignored that comment. “What is this all about?”

“You told me once about the code of your family, and its ties to the bloodline.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “I must marry within six months, or the title will go to one of my father’s relatives.”

“Exactly,” she said, and he blinked. “I will marry you, Raoul.”

“You would?” Raoul stared at her. “You?”

“Yes. If you MUST marry, why not me? Everyone thinks I am not good enough for you, but if they believe that it was only for you to keep the title, they will accept me.” Raoul could not speak. He was too shocked. “We know each other well, and soon this situation will pass and we will be as we were before.”

“Marry you,” Raoul repeated out loud.

“If you do not marry, what will happen?”

“I inherit a small house outside Paris, and have a yearly stipend. I lose the title, and am simply…”

“A regular person,” she said softly.

“I must think about this,” Raoul said, standing. “Enjoy your lunch. I have lost my appetite.”

 

Seventeen

 

Raoul returned to his home and did not drink. He thought he wanted something, but when the bottle was placed in front of him, it turned his stomach. He sat at the table, prepared to look over documents regarding his father’s estate, but all he could think of was Christine’s offer. She would marry him, to give him the title he so rightly deserved. In return, he would have to do nothing but care for her and keep her safe and supplied with anything she could want. Children would be expected, of course, and Raoul could fulfill that duty. 

Couldn’t he?

“Joseph!” Raoul yelled. Joseph appeared out of thin air.

“Sir?”

“Please bring me something to write with.” Joseph nodded and disappeared as quickly as he arrived. He shortly returned with paper and a writing instrument. Raoul nodded his thanks and Joseph left the room.

Christine,  
I must consider your offer very carefully. Please understand that I am filled with gratitude at your unselfishness. I know things have taken a dramatic turn between us, and for this I apologize.   
I will be returning to my father’s manor house for a short visit. Some matters there require my personal attention. This will also give me time alone to consider everything that has come to pass.  
Yr. Obedient Servant,

Raoul signed the letter with a flourish and left it on the table for Joseph to seal and mail. He knew his valet would not look at it.

 

Two days later Raoul was walking through the fields behind the large house, his father’s favorite dogs yipping at his heels. Louis and Philippe had both enjoyed the hunt, and Louis kept a stable of hunting dogs that were beyond compare. Raoul did not enjoy the hunt, but he enjoyed the animals. They were always eager and ready to play, though they were serious hunters when the time came. Raoul could not keep them, as he would not be spending much time at the manor house, but he knew that if he kept the four staff members left from his father, the dogs would be well cared for. 

The four members of the staff that remained were actually staying in the stable. It was warm and comfortable, and the fire had not touched it. A quarter of the house remained standing, but it could not be used. Raoul planned on rebuilding immediately, following the original plans exactly. He was staying at an inn nearby. He knew none of his neighbors well enough now to impose on their hospitality.

He had spent much of his childhood in Paris, but this place in the country was where he truly felt at home. Now that he was the only one left, it was all his. He could come and go as he pleased, but it would always be here for him, as long as he was married within the next half-year.

He stopped walking and thought about marriage. He did not have any married friends, so he knew very little about the institution. His mother had died when he was born, so he never knew his father as a husband. He knew that Marie loved Philippe, and his brother, in his cold, aristocratic way, loved his wife. They never kissed in public, never showed any signs of affection when others were around. Yet they seemed to have a happy life…Raoul shook his head. He must stop thinking of Philippe in the present tense. 

Raoul sat down, letting the three dogs bark and climb all over him. He thought about Christine. She was beautiful and talented, and would look good on his arm. They had a good past, and he knew they would get over everything that happened and become friends once more. Raoul knew, however, that it was all they would be: friends. He had no physical lust for her. What would he do if he needed to make love to her and could not? People would know, if they never had children, that something was wrong. That would be embarrassing.

Raoul thought about what life would be like as a non-titled Frenchman. No special treats, no fine carriages or large houses. He would have to work for a living, which was a laugh, as he had been trained to do nothing. Even understanding the will and legal dealings of his father’s estate was confusing. Raoul looked back at the large house, sighing. Could he handle losing everything he knew?

He stood, brushed the grass from his legs, and called to the dogs. He had asked Michael to handle the task of interviewing and hiring the new staff. Including Michael, he had a stable boy, a messenger, and one of the dog handlers. Raoul hired all the important staff himself, including the cook and the head valet, and left the lesser positions to Michael. The young man, really only boy, had taken the added responsibility onto his thin shoulders without a complaint. Raoul made a mental note to reward him generously.

Michael met him as he approached the site of the house. The sun was beginning to set, and Raoul wanted to meet with the new staff before it was dark. He did not want them to have to walk him in the blackness of night.

“I have them lined up.”

“Thank you,” Raoul said, handing Michael his jacket. “I will be in momentarily.” Michael nodded and hung the jacket up before heading back towards the others. Raoul took a deep breath and followed. He smiled at the nervous group. “Hello. I thank you for coming and for accepting positions in my home.” He swallowed hard. It was strange calling it his home. “Soon you will all be hard at work, and although I will not be here often, I hope you will keep it running as well as when I am here.” He looked the group over, from the smallest stable boy to the cook. “According to the way the title was devised, I will have six months to marry, or else I lose the title to one of my father’s cousins. In that rare case, you will have a new Count to serve. I know we will all get along, either until you have a new Countess, or a new Count.” Raoul smiled at them. “I know you all live close enough to watch the house being rebuilt. I beg you to help in any way you can. If you see something that is not being done, or something that should be changed for the better, please inform Michael, who will relay the message to me in Paris. Good luck to you all, and I hope to see you in your positions soon.”

The group dispersed, and Raoul spoke to Michael a short time longer before beginning the walk to the inn.

 

“There’s a message for ya, milord,” the innkeeper said upon Raoul’s return. The owner of the inn was still in shock at having a Count in his establishment, and he bowed and scraped every time Raoul was in hearing distance. “Left it in your room for ya, so no one would bother it.”

“Thank you.” Raoul quickly returned to his room. The message was on the bed.

 

My dear Vicomte Count,  
I am writing for two reasons. First, may I please offer my condolences? To lose a parent is difficult, I am sure, but to lose a brother as well must have been terrible. I offer sincere sympathy.  
I also write to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptials. I could not help but overhear you in the café that day. Times certainly have changed, when a woman may propose to a man.  
Good luck in everything, and may your home be even more beautiful than before. May it soon ring with the happy sounds of children.

ERIK

 

Raoul almost fell down the steps as he ran in search of the innkeeper. “This message,” he gasped, hanging on to a chair to catch his breath. “When did it arrive?”

“About an hour ago, Sir.”

“And the man who delivered it?”

“Came and left quick as you can be. Wore all black, that I remember.”

“Thank you.” Raoul returned to his room more slowly then he had left it, carefully closing the door behind him. He fell onto the bed, taking a few deep breaths before holding the note to his face and inhaling.

 

Eighteen

 

Raoul looked over his shoulder for the rest of his stay. He grew paranoid, watching for black capes and white masks and generally driving himself to distraction. He knew it was insane; Erik was too smart to let himself be found if he did not wish it. Raoul knew what the problem was…he was afraid he would see Erik. 

Or was afraid he would not.

 

On the last night of his ten-day visit, Raoul met with Michael. It was getting dark, but they went for a long walk across the lands that now belonged to Raoul. Raoul was still jumpy, as if he expected Erik to spring from the ground at any given moment.

“Count de Chagney, I hate to offend you, but I must ask if you are all right,” Michael said, stopping. “You have been…acting a bit strange, and I know that you have just suffered an incredible loss…” Michael blushed slightly. “Not long after you arrived, you changed a bit. I respect you greatly, Sir, and you have been so kind to me…”

Raoul smiled at the man who was not much younger than himself. “I appreciate your concern, Michael, and I am far from offended. All of this has shocked me, and I received a letter from someone I did not expect to hear from again.”

“The man in black,” Michael said softly. Raoul looked at him sharply.

“What?”

“The innkeeper…his tongue is hung at the middle and wags at both ends,” Michael said, rolling his eyes. “He mentioned you had a visitor, and we thought it might have been your new Countess…then the innkeeper told us of the man in black. Is it…a relative?”

“No, it is not,” Raoul said with a sigh. “He is from my past…someone I no longer know.” He put a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Come along…I have a few things I must explain to you before I leave tomorrow.”

 

Raoul’s heart dropped as the carriage pulled away from the land he loved. As he approached Paris, it grew even heavier. Never had he felt so much dread returning to the city. He did not want to face Christine, the society that expected him to marry quickly, or even just the city that reminded him of Erik.

“Welcome home, Count de Chagney,” Joseph said enthusiastically.

“I do not wish to be disturbed,” Raoul said, stepping down from the carriage. Joseph’s smile dimmed.

“Do you wish a bottle of bourbon, Sir?”

“No, thank you,” Raoul said, and Joseph brightened a bit. “I would have a cold supper, however. And as I said…”

“No disruptions. Understood, Sir.” Joseph frowned as his feet while he bowed. His master did not look good, though Joseph knew it was difficult to face your home when your loved ones were no longer in it.

 

Raoul smiled when he reached his suite of rooms. The bedclothes were turned down, his robe was draped across the foot of the bed, and a basin and pitcher stood at the ready on a small table. They had known he would arrive that day, had no idea when, yet the room was still eagerly awaiting his presence.

Raoul splashed the cool water on his face, allowing it to push away the grime from his long ride. He removed his shirt, preparing to wipe off his neck, arms and chest. A full bath could wait until the next day. He tossed the shirt onto the bed and thoroughly scrubbed his torso. Joseph knocked and entered, bringing a small tray of meat, cheese and wine.

“I will see you tomorrow, Joseph,” Raoul said. “Thank you for keeping everything in order during my absence.”

“My pleasure, Count de Chagney. Until tomorrow.” Joseph bowed respectfully and left the room. 

“Tomorrow,” Raoul repeated, groaning to himself. He had to call on Christine tomorrow, had to tell her that the wedding was on. He had already decided that she could spend what she liked; he assumed that most women liked a large and fancy wedding. He leaned on the windowsill, staring out into the city. “Christine Daae, Countess de Chagney,” he murmured.

“That has a rather…musical ring to it. Trust me, I know what is musical.”

Raoul whirled around, almost falling against the window in his haste. “Who…”

“I hope you do not mind that I invited myself into your house,” Erik said, stepping into the light. He wore a black shirt and black pants, and the usual black cape, and carried a black cane. He did not wear his mask. “I felt I should come in person to convey my sympathies.”

“I received your note,” Raoul said, feeling foolish. “Thank you.”

Erik nodded, looking around the large room. “Very nice. You have an eye for beauty, but that is obvious. May I also congratulate you? It sounds like you have officially made your decision. You will remain Count Raoul.”

“Why do you care?” Raoul finally blurted. “You left me alone, left me to leave and continue on my own.”

“I do not care,” Erik said, his face unemotional. His voice quivered every so slightly. “You have become accustomed to a life of privilege…I am sure that Christine will be beneficial to you.”

“Yes, she will. She is beautiful, and talented, and I have loved her all along,” Raoul lied, watching Erik’s face. Erik never lost his calm demeanor, but Raoul saw the hand on the cane tighten.

“That is good to know.” Erik stepped towards the door. “I did want to see that you made it out alive, which is why I kept an eye on you before your journey.” The admission seemed to come at great cost. “I also thought you should know that in a few days, I leave the city. For good. I thought I might go to America. I know they are in dire need of true musical ability.” Erik bowed low. “Farewell.”

Raoul could only watch him leave, not knowing what to say.

 

He slept restlessly, Erik’s disfigured face never far from his mind. Raoul had badly wanted to reach out to the man, wanted to put his arms around him. Raoul didn’t even know if it was what Erik wanted, but it was what Raoul ached to do. He thought he hated Erik, had felt used and dirty. This all changed when he saw Erik’s face, saw him step out from the corner of his room. He did not believe Erik truly wanted to leave Paris, but he had no true home now, and important people would be looking to get rid of him.

At around three in the morning, Raoul had finally fought with himself to exhaustion. He fell asleep knowing what he must do.

Raoul rose early, quickly dressing before Joseph even came to knock on the door. “I have much to accomplish today, Joseph, and will not be home until late.”

“You’re going out…like that?” Joseph blinked at the old black pants and coarse tan shirt. 

“I will not be around anyone who would care, trust me,” Raoul said with a grin. “Tell the kitchen not to worry about breakfast…I will get something when I am out.” He yanked his boots on and brushed past a shocked valet.

 

“Mademoiselle Giry is not…prepared for guests,” the maid said, staring at the man in shock. “I am sure she is too busy to see you, at any rate.”

Raoul grinned, knowing he looked like a common Parisian instead of a titled gentleman. “Please tell her that the Count de Chagney is at the door…and that I will wait until she is “prepared” for me.” Raoul actually sat down on the front steps.

“Very well!” The maid slammed the door, still not believing he was anything but a common merchant or something of the like. The door soon flew open again. “Please come in, Monsieur. Would you like to sit in the parlor?”

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at the blushing maid. He took a seat and patiently waited. Soon Christine appeared, clad in a pink nightgown and robe. “Christine…I apologize for coming so early, but I could not wait one more minute.” He kissed her hand, and the maid curtseyed.

“You may go, Hannah,” Christine said, her eyes never leaving Raoul’s face. The maid left, sliding the doors together.

“I have thought about your…proposal, and decided it is the best idea ever!” Raoul declared. “I wanted you to know immediately.”

“Oh, Raoul!” Christine gasped, eyes shining. “I KNEW you would see things as I do.”

“I also wanted to tell you some exciting news. The manor home will be rebuilt before we know it, and we can move there in time for our honeymoon.”

“Honeymoon?”

“I figured you should get to know your new home as soon as possible.” Raoul watched her carefully. She fluttered, playing with the ribbons on her robe.

“Home? I thought…Paris is your home.”

“When I was Vicomte, yes. But now, as Count, I wish to keep a close eye on my lands and property in the country. The house will be truly splendid; I know you will love it.” Raoul sat by the fireplace, toying with the logs though they were not lit. “At the funeral, my sister-in-law told me that I should live with the title, and not for it. I think she was right.” 

“Leave Paris…but my career…” 

“I assumed that being Countess would take the place of your career.”

“Yes, it would, but…”

Raoul sighed, putting the weight of the world into the sound. “Christine, no one knows that we even discussed an engagement,” he lied, thinking of Erik. “It could end just like that. We do not want the same thing.”

“But your title…”

He shrugged. “I can find someone else…it is not a great concern to me now.” He stood, kissing her cheek. “Good bye, Lotte.” He let himself out of the building, whistling to himself.

 

Raoul stared at the ruins of the opera house, wondering if it was even safe to attempt to find his way through. He took a deep breath, briskly walking to the tunnel he had escaped from. It was basically just a hole in the wall, and now it was filled with soot and dirt. Raoul had expected this, thus the old shirt and pants. He took a deep breath, looked around, and darted into the hole.

Memories of the time he had spent with Erik flooded his brain as he slowly made his way. He cursed himself for not remembering to bring some sort of light, such as a lamp or candle, but he did not want to burden himself down, or call attention to himself. He slowly felt his way along the rocky corridor, trying to remember each twist and turn. He had been completely distraught when he left before, but the thought he could find his way.

He heard a few noises and saw a glimmer of light. He headed towards it, trying to keep quiet. As he reached the opening into the cavernous room, he heard a voice say, “Whoever you are, stealth is not a virtue you possess.”

Raoul slid through the opening, his feet coming down to crunch on broken glass. He remembered the mirror he had broken. “I have never had the need to learn stealth,” he said. Erik sat on the ground, a large suitcase beside him. He was sifting through sheet music, obviously trying to decide what came along and what went into the fire. 

Erik’s eyes actually widened at the site of him, and Raoul was strangely pleased to once in his life shock the other man. “What…what are you doing here?” Erik composed himself and stood, letting the pages float to the floor. His eyes ran over Raoul’s coarse clothing. “Have you been mucking out stalls in the stable?”

“I did not want to ruin anything while climbing through to get here,” Raoul said. “As to your first question, I thought you would like to know that I spoke with Christine today.”

“Already? Did you visit her in bed, then?” Erik bent to pick up the music.

Raoul blushed. “No, we met in her parlor.”

“Set a date?”

“No. There will be no wedding. Not with her…or with anyone, actually.”

The blood rushed to Erik’s head as he quickly stood. He stumbled a bit, and Raoul reached out. “I am fine.” Erik held up a hand, keeping Raoul at bay. “You are not marrying her?”

“I wanted to retire to my new home in the country. She did not,” Raoul said simply.

“But if you do not marry at all…you lose the title. Is that what I heard her say?” Erik whispered. Raoul nodded, his bravado flowing away as Erik watched him.

“Yes. I get a small house in the country, a small amount of money each month, and am simply Monsieur Leroux, our original family name before the title came to us.” Raoul fidgeted. “I decided last night that I did not want to live a false life. The title would own me; make me do things I did not wish. I do not wish to marry her, or any woman. It is not what I want.” Raoul’s eyes met Erik’s and neither looked away. “I thought, perhaps, you would like to know that.”

“It is interesting, true, but nothing that concerns me.” Erik threw a pile of music into the suitcase and closed it. “I wish you the best of luck; I know it will be an odd transition for you, but you are strong and can handle it. I must excuse myself, as my train leaves within the hour.”

“Train?” Raoul blinked stupidly. “You are leaving, then?”

“I told you I was.” Erik picked up his mask and carefully fixed it to his face. “I take a train to the coast, then a boat to England. I spend a few days there, then I am off to America.”

“I…I see.” Raoul forced himself not to cry. He had given everything he could to this man, and if he did not wish to take it, he would not show his grief. “Godspeed and good luck, Erik.” Raoul whirled on one heel and almost ran to the hole, disappearing as fast as he could.

 

Nineteen  
Two Months Later

 

Raoul actually giggled as the puppy jumped up on his chest, eagerly licking at his face as her paws dug into his skin. “Stop…stop little girl…you are hurting me.” Raoul let his head drop onto the grass as he laughed, too weak from the laughter to actually push the dog away. Her sister jumped and yipped, wanting to join in on the fun but too shy to actually do it. The puppy finally slid off his body and lay next to him on the warm ground. Her sister did the same, and Raoul simply lay and looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful day, and he was completely happy. 

Well, almost completely happy. There was a tiny nagging hole in his heart, a hole that had been there since the day he had left Erik forever. Raoul did not mind living in the small house, having only one horse and no carriage, having only one servant as opposed to the multitude he was used to. This was no great sacrifice, surprisingly enough. He enjoyed his small house, the sweet neighbors of the village, and the way he could come and go as he pleased, not caring what others thought. He was lonely, however, and that he had not counted on.

He kept himself busy, puttering around his small home, learning how to do the necessary day-to-day tasks that occurred around a village. At night, however, when he was in his bed, waiting for sleep to come, he still could feel Erik’s touch, still see the spark in the other man’s eyes when Raoul announced he did not plan on marrying. It was not enough, though…Erik had not followed him.

A squawking of birds startled him into a sitting position. The more adventurous puppy ran barking at the birds, disappearing down the hill. “No, you foolish dog. Come back!” The puppy ignored him, and he flopped back onto the ground, picking a blade of grass and making it whistle between his fingers.

 

Erik wiped the sweat from his brow, glad that he had gathered enough courage to not wear the mask. The day was warm, and he needed nothing extra on his body. He climbed the hill, referring to the crude paper in his hand. The directions from the butcher were less than clear, but he felt he was going in the direction. He half hoped he would indeed get lost; that would be a clear enough sign that he was to have gone abroad in the first place.

Erik froze as his sharp ears picked up a strange sound. A sort of whining, coming from his right. He set his bag down and approached what looked like a thorny sort of shrub. The whining increased as he approached, and his eyes opened wide at the sight of a small animal stuck behind some brambles. “How in the world did you get there, my friend?” Erik studied the plant; apparently the animal had followed something in and realized it could not get back out. “I am sorry…I must hurt you to save you.” Erik reached into the branches, ignoring the little stings and pricks of the thorns. He pulled the dog out all in one motion, and cradled it in his arms. 

As he stood motionless for a moment, he felt an odd sensation on his hands. He looked down at the animal…a dog…and saw that it was licking his hand. He smiled, pleased by the response of the small creature. Erik had never owned a pet, never had something love him unconditionally. “You are fine,” he told the dog. “There is nothing to worry about now. I have you.” The dog yipped and climbed up to snuggle on Erik’s shoulder. Erik chuckled and put a hand up to hold the dog in place. He walked back to retrieve his bag.

 

“Where’s your sister?” Raoul asked the remaining puppy. “Let’s go rescue her…AGAIN.” He stood and brushed the grass from his pants. He whistled a few times, calling the dog in the high voice she normally responded to. He did not see the dog, but instead saw a figure walking towards him. “Hello!” Raoul said, jogging towards the approaching figure. “Have you seen a little…” Raoul skidded to a stop, almost falling over his own feet.

“A dog?” Erik asked, holding the animal out. “I found…well…uh…” he held the dog up slightly and looking between her legs. “I found her in a bush. She was stuck.”

The puppy howled and Erik pulled her back quickly, almost dropping her. She snuggled against his chest and sighed. Erik’s shocked eyes met Raoul’s, and Raoul couldn’t help but smile. “Looks like you have a friend.”

“Yes, it does.” Erik fidgeted nervously, and Raoul took pity on him.

“May I help you with something?”

“Yes, I, well…I came looking for you.” Raoul’s mouth fell open. “I made it as far as London, and then realized it was not what I wanted.”

“You were looking for me?” Raoul repeated stupidly. “Why?”

Erik glared. “I am beginning to wonder that myself. Now that you are no longer titled, you do not have the manners to invite a traveler to your home for rest and refreshment?”

“Oh, uh, of course! I am sorry! Please come down this way.” Raoul led the way with the other puppy running ahead of him. He threw the door open, gesturing for Erik to enter. “It is not quite like the other home you were in, but it is comfortable.”

Erik placed his bag inside the door and set the puppy down next to it. She began to run around, obviously recovered from her scare. “It does look comfortable.”

Raoul poured water into a mug and handed it to Erik, along with a plate of bread and cheese. “The cheese is made from my own goat’s milk,” he said proudly. Erik simply nodded, eating the plate clean.

Erik put the plate on the small table and looked at Raoul. “You seem happy here.”

“Yes,” Raoul said, sitting in one of the worn wooden chairs. “I thought I would miss everything I had back then…but I do not.”

“I am happy for you,” Erik said sincerely. He looked around the neat cabin. “Are you married?”

Raoul stood so fast his chair flipped over. “I told you I would not marry anyone,” he hissed. “You are so intelligent, so amazingly gifted, yet completely blind. I will never marry anyone because I will only marry someone I love. And since the someone I love is a man, I may never marry the someone I love. Is that plain enough for your blind eyes to see?” Erik blinked at the steel in Raoul’s voice. “Tell me why you are here, and then leave me. I cannot handle being reminded of what I cannot have.”

“I…I came to you. What I mean is that I came to BE with you…if you will have me,” Erik stammered. “Forgive me. Forgive my blindness and my lack of finesse when I speak. This is all so new to me…these feelings…I tried to fight them down. I saw them as another disfigurement, but when they threatened to eat me alive…I had to come to you.” Erik bent and picked up Raoul’s chair. “I am a killer…I know nothing of what is right, how to behave among decent people. I am paranoid and frightened, though I show a brave face. Yet you say you…love me.”

“I do love you, Erik. It is wrong in more ways than one; I could confess until my throat goes dry yet the church I grew up in will never forgive me. I do not care. I would choose the love I feel for you over the loneliness I have without you. I have lived in Hell already these two months.” Raoul put a hand on Erik’s sleeve. “I think you are very brave.” He reached up to caress Erik’s disfigurement. “You have shown this to the world, and lived to tell the tale.”

 

Twenty

 

Erik’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into the touch. “Not that brave, really…one does what one must. I knew I would do whatever it took to get to you…even wander through the countryside until I found you. You have seen me without the mask…and if I wanted you to accept that I was truly yours, I needed to being to let the world see me as well.”

“Mine?” Raoul’s voice was nothing but a whisper. He was shocked to see a tear roll down over the ridges of Erik’s face.

“You told me once that it was not a matter of me letting myself go…it was a matter of me having to let you in.” Erik’s smile trembled as Raoul’s thumb wiped away the tear. “It is indeed the hardest thing I have ever done, completely surrendering myself to another. I do not mean physically, though I feel a physical craving like nothing I have ever experienced. It is emotional…the need to let you see everything inside.” Erik dipped his head, unable to meet Raoul’s gaze.

Raoul took Erik’s hand in his own and led him across the room to his bed against the wall in the corner. “I too feel the physical pull…I have thought about it in ways that would truly make you blush. I do not wish you to feel uncomfortable, Erik. I wish for you to open your heart to me, that is true, but I do not want you to feel…” Raoul searched for the word. “Raw. Open to pain. Does that make sense?”

“Completely.” Erik sat at the very edge of the bed, eyes darting around nervously. He laughed, a bitter sound. “According to you, I am a genius. I should know how to do everything. All I know how to do now, though, is to sound like a crying female, whining about opening my heart to you.”

Raoul smiled fondly, knowing exactly what Erik was doing. Whenever Erik felt shy or uncomfortable, he turned bitter. Raoul knew it was not how Erik truly felt. He took pity. “I know what to do.” Raoul stretched out, plumping his pillow against the wall and reclining against it. He spread his legs slightly and tugged at Erik’s arm. “Come here.”

“What? Now?” Erik’s body liked the idea, but his heart rebelled. Here he was, laying everything out for Raoul to see, and the boy wanted to…

“No!” Raoul shook his head, chuckling. For once he felt in complete control of the situation. “Just come here and relax. We are not doing anything…not yet, anyway.” Raoul tugged at Erik until he finally moved to stiffly lie against Raoul’s chest. “I said relax, Erik. Just allow me to hold you.”

“I am relaxed,” Erik said, though his body did not soften. He heard Raoul huff a sigh, and soon arms came around to settle on his chest. There was a comfort and safety in those arms. One hand slid up to run through Erik’s hair, the hand began to gently stroke through the strands and he could not hold back the sound of contentment that left his mouth. He shyly reached up to clutch at Raoul’s sleeve.

“Better,” he felt more than heard Raoul say, and he truly relaxed then, even letting his eyes flutter closed. A soft sigh escaped as he felt a kiss drop onto his head and Raoul said, “Rest.”

 

When Erik’s eyes fluttered open, he saw by the light in the room that at least two hours had passed. Raoul’s hand was still dancing through Erik’s hair as if Erik had only closed his eyes a moment ago. 

“I am sorry,” Erik said, stretching himself against Raoul’s body. His legs ached from hanging over the side of the bed but he did not want to get up. “I did not mean to…”

“Do not apologize.” Raoul moved slightly, causing Erik to sit up. “Obviously you needed your rest…and I liked holding you.”

Erik gave in and stood, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. “I liked being held,” he shyly confessed. Raoul also stood, letting his arms slowly encircle Erik’s waist. He was only an inch shorter than Erik, therefore their eyes met at the same level. Erik didn’t know what to say, and fidgeted in Raoul’s arms.

He was saved by a shadow in the doorway. Erik quickly pulled away as Raoul went to the door. “Eduard, yes?”

“I am sorry to intrude, Monsieur Leroux, but I just wanted you to know that the animals are in their pens, washed and fed.”

“Thank you, Eduard.” Raoul turned to Erik. “Erik, this is Eduard, my right hand man. Eduard, this is my good friend Erik.” 

“Nice to meet a friend of Monsieur Leroux’s,” Eduard said, holding his hand out as he stepped toward Erik. His eyes searched Erik’s face and Erik waited for the inevitable. He heard no scream of horror, no accusations. Eduard looked curiously at the disfigurement but said nothing about it.

“It is my pleasure,” Erik replied. “I should have known that Raoul could not hold his own out here without help.”

Eduard laughed, a jolly sound. “I only teach him a bit…he picks up the rest. It was nice to have met you, Erik.”

“You will be seeing him often, Eduard. Erik is going to be living with me.” Eduard’s eyebrows rose into his hair but he did not comment. He bid them good evening and disappeared. “So…it is late. Are you hungry again?” Raoul began to dig through cupboards and drawers. “I was not prepared to feed someone else, but…”

“You act as if it is nothing. As if my being here is some everyday occurrence.”

Raoul turned to look at Erik, his grin making him look even younger than usual. “I hope it WILL be an everyday occurrence. I hope I did not lie to him.”

“People will not like it,” Erik said earnestly, “And not just because of my face.”

Raoul set two bowls down with a thunk. “I will not live my life by what others think. I thought you realized this.”

“And I thought YOU realized that the world is not as forgiving as you seem to think,” Erik retorted.

“I love you, Erik. I love you, whether you are a farmer or a composer or a Phantom. That is the only thing that I am sure of.” 

Erik blinked at the words, still uncomfortable with the sound of them. “I…I…”

“Do not say you love me until you are ready,” Raoul interrupted. “It is not necessary.” He turned to grab the pitcher of milk and place it on the table. He almost dropped it as hands settled on his waist. The pitcher made it to the table just in time.

“I will not say it, if you do not wish to hear it.” Erik turned Raoul to face him. 

“I wish to hear it,” Raoul whispered. Erik’s hands slid up his chest to rest at the base of Raoul’s neck.

“Do you know what I wish to hear?” Erik’s voice took on the old teasing note. Raoul shook his head. “I wish to hear you whisper my name, your voice rising and falling in the music of passion.”

“My God,” Raoul choked as one of Erik’s hands threaded up through his hair, bringing Raoul’s face to his. Erik’s mouth was confident as it moved against Raoul’s. The hand that was not in Raoul’s hair slid down to the small of Raoul’s back, pulling their bodies together. “Erik…oh God…I have dreamt of this…” Raoul panted when Erik allowed him to come up for breath.

“I am afraid of what is outside that door…” Erik nodded his head towards the doorway. “But in here…I know what to do, what I want…” He allowed Raoul to pull him towards the bed once more. “I mean…I do not know exactly, as I have never done it, but I have read and studied a bit, and…”

“I do not want to hear you recite a textbook,” Raoul said, his voice teasing even as his hands teased across Erik’s back. They lowered themselves to the bed at the same time, facing each other as they lay on their sides. “Do not tell me what you think you have learned.” Raoul laid back, his hair fanning across the pillow. “Show me.”

Erik’s hand shook as he pulled up the coarse fabric of Raoul’s tunic. Raoul wriggled and shrugged until Erik could pull the shirt free and toss it to the floor. His eyes wandered over Raoul’s smooth skin, his hand trailing in varying patterns across the soft flesh. His thumb drew across Raoul’s nipples, and Raoul fell back onto the pillow with a hiss. “I think what I will enjoy most is seeing your reactions,” Erik whispered, pulling his own shirt over his head. “I have never touched someone with love…before you.” He bent to kiss Raoul and felt Raoul’s hands move across to clutch at his backside.

“Erik…oh…Erik…” Raoul gasped, his eyes fluttering closed as Erik’s erection nudged against his own. If this was how it felt through pants and underclothing, how in the world would he live through the real thing?

“I will only do what you want,” Erik promised. “If anything frightens you, stop me immediately, Raoul.” His hand, still entangled in the golden locks of Raoul’s head, stopped pulling and moved in a gentle petting motion.

“I am not frightened,” Raoul said, his voice practically a moan. “Move, touch me, kiss me, love me, do SOMETHING.”

“So impatient, my little Vicomte,” Erik chuckled. He bent his head to nip at Raoul’s neck and smiled at the ensuing moan. “Here am I, trying to turn from my wicked ways of violence, and I find you enjoy pain.” He bit again, following it with a swipe of his tongue over the reddening skin.

“First of all…” Raoul panted. “I am no longer a Vicomte.”

“You will always be a Vicomte to me,” Erik whispered, experimenting some more by biting Raoul’s earlobe.

He was answered with an obscene arch of Raoul’s back. “Secondly, if you continue to do that, I will not last more than a few more bites.” Raoul’s eyes were closed as he writhed below Erik, desperately clutching at Erik’s body.

“Then I will bestow my bites in a careful manner,” Erik cooed against Raoul’s ear. His hand slid down to stroke Raoul through his pants, making Raoul’s teeth chatter.

“Off…naked, please,” Raoul begged.

Erik immediately drew away, earning a whimper from Raoul. Erik felt another wave of self-consciousness as he slowly stepped out of his pants. There were no deformities below his chest, yet he felt shy in his nakedness. Raoul swung his legs over the bed, placing them on either side of Erik as he stood in front of him. “You, as well,” Erik prompted.

“Wait,” Raoul breathed, his hands sliding up Erik’s long legs to rest on his hips. He bent his head and kissed a hipbone. “You are beautiful, Erik.”

“No, I am not, and you know it,” Erik snapped. He made to push Raoul away, but Raoul caught his wrists.

“To me, you are beautiful, and my opinion is all that should matter.” Raoul’s tongue dragged across from one hip to the other. He heard Erik’s sharp intake of breath and smiled against the creamy skin. “You enjoy my mouth on you. That I will remember.” He nervously dipped lower, to lick a line on the hard length before his eyes.

“Raoul!” Erik yelped, hands fisting in Raoul’s hair. “Please do not…I cannot stand it…I do not want to finish like this.”

Raoul ignored him, licking and sucking both hard and soft. Erik growled and Raoul felt him tremble. Raoul finally pulled back and Erik shoved him to the bed. Erik yanked at his pants, making short work of them. Erik crawled up his body, finally laying head to head and toe to toe. “You are everything I could have dreamt of…and everything I do not deserve,” Erik murmured, thrusting up against Raoul ever so slightly.

“Nnnghhh…” Raoul said, incapable of coherent thought once Erik’s throbbing body started to move against him.

“If we do what we both want, my love, it will hurt you,” Erik said, and the endearment rolled off his tongue without a second thought. “If you have something we can use to, well, ease the way, it will help slightly.” He nibbled and kissed at Raoul’s neck and upper chest.

Raoul thought a moment. “On the shelf…oil? Is that enough?”

Erik got up and retrieved the container. He cradled Raoul’s head in one palm as the other hand slid down to settle between Raoul’s legs. “I almost envy you,” Erik whispered. “I would love to feel you do this to me.” His finger began to tease inside, and he felt Raoul tense, then relax.

“Someday, I will. And I…” Raoul’s voice jumped into a yelp as Erik hit something. Some…thing. A thing that made his brain want to jump through his skin.

“Ah, I was able to find it.” Erik chuckled and nipped at Raoul’s shoulder blade. “When I am inside of you, I will rub against that again and again, driving you crazy with lust. Is it what you want, my Vicomte?” Erik added a second finger, noticing that Raoul was beginning to unconsciously ride his fingers.

“Yes, Erik, God, yes, please!” Raoul’s head thrashed against Erik’s hand, finally getting out of Erik’s grip. Erik’s hand slid over Raoul’s face and Raoul nabbed his thumb, sucking it into his mouth. Erik’s eyes widened as Raoul’s tongue worshipped the digit, licking around it, down into the vee it made with his index finger. Raoul’s eyes fluttered shut and he moaned as he sucked. “Please,” Raoul said again, letting Erik’s thumb fall out of his mouth with an indecent slurp.

Erik had been moving his fingers inside of Raoul as best he could, working to prepare Raoul for what was to come. He slowly slid the fingers out and rested on his elbows, arms on either side of Raoul. “I apologize for the pain, but I believe it will all be worth it.” He took his erection in one hand and slowly began to nudge his way in.

Raoul tried to relax, hands clenching and unclenching the bed sheets. He could not help but hiss as the nudging became an odd sensation, which became pain. “Erik…”

“Hold on to me,” Erik murmured, sliding in completely. Raoul dug his fingernails into Erik’s biceps as Erik stopped moving. “We can stop…”

“No.” Raoul looked Erik in the eye. “Do not…please…you can move now.”

Erik slid out slowly and went back in. This time it was a bit easier, and he felt Raoul relax ever so slightly. “I love you, Raoul Leroux, Raoul de Chagney, whatever you wish to call yourself this week.” Erik moved a bit faster, feeling Raoul begin to move with him.

“This is…amazing…” Raoul’s hands moved up and down Erik’s back, sometimes clutching his backside, sometimes riding through his hair. “Erik…God!” Raoul gasped as Erik hit the spot from before.

“That’s it, Raoul, let yourself go…” Erik said, grunting with the force of his thrusts. His hand slid down to clumsily stroke Raoul, trying to make him feel as good as Erik felt.

“Erik, not yet…I do not want to yet…” Raoul cried, but Erik knew that he himself could not hold out much longer against Raoul’s tightness and his pants and whimpers. Raoul let out a long groan and finally climaxed, covering his own stomach as well as Erik’s hand.

“Yes,” Erik said softly, thrusting into Raoul one last time. Raoul tried to move, tried to keep Erik from laying in his sticky mess, but Erik shoved his hands away. He collapsed onto Raoul, letting his head fall onto Raoul’s shoulder.

“That was…amazing. I never considered it before, what two men might do.” Raoul’s voice was airy.

“If you left me right this moment, I could live truly happy forever on just the memory of this,” Erik said. Raoul jerked away, forcing Erik to look at him.

“I am not leaving you. You must understand that. All I have now is yours, Erik.” Erik lay back down again, a lazy smile on his face. “And besides,” Raoul said. “This is my house. You will be the one leaving, not me.” Raoul smiled as he was rewarded with a pinch to his stomach.

 

Twenty-One  
Three Weeks Later

 

Madame Giry stopped walking, leaning against a tree to regain her breath. She had always hated the country, hated a place where living things could end up in your hair, in your food or, God forbid, in your bed. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of manure, mentally cursing the man whose errand she was carrying out. He was lucky she loved him, for she would most certainly not do this for anyone else. 

According to his directions, she need only walk a short bit further and she would see the small cabin. The smoke from its chimney appeared first, and soon the building itself came into view. Two figures became clear as she walked, and Madame frowned as she saw the one person being held down to the ground by the other. Her legs moved faster upon hearing someone cry for help.

 

“Please, no, not this,” Erik said, his voice filled with sarcastic fear. “I do not want it, you will hurt me. Help. Help me please.”

Raoul raised an eyebrow as he straddled Erik’s waist. He pinned Erik’s hands to the ground, leaning to kiss Erik’s nose. Erik pretended to struggle, his face full of faux concern. “You are a bastard. I could hold you down if I wanted.”

It was Erik’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You think so, boy?” Erik pulled slightly at Raoul’s hold, not really trying to free himself. Raoul smirked and leaned forward again. “You are such a naïve child.” Erik easily flipped himself so that he sat on Raoul. “You were saying?”

“I was not ready,” Raoul pouted. Erik laughed long and hard.

“Oh, you are SO adorable when you do not get your way. I will have to make up for it somehow.”

 

Madame stopped walking when she heard a strange sound. A sound that she had not heard in a very long time. Erik…laughing. She saw Erik bend over Raoul and give him a tender kiss. It made her heart leap in her chest.

“Perhaps I have arrived at an inopportune moment,” she called.

Raoul froze at the sound of a familiar voice. He watched Erik’s face light up, the happiness in his eyes erasing the horror of his disfigurement. “She is here!” Erik jumped up, brushing the grass from his pants as he went.

“Who?” Raoul grumbled, angry that their affectionate romp was interrupted. His eyes widened at the sight of the ballet mistress. “Madame!”

“Vicomte, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Madame said. She turned to Erik. “Erik…”

“Terese…” Erik embraced her, feeling as if the world had left his shoulders. “Now everyone I love is here.” 

She put her hands on either side of his face, staring into his eyes. “You are happy, my boy?”

“Very,” he said softly, blushing a bit. She studied his face closely.

“Do I see wrinkles?”

He blushed harder. “I do not want to stay so young any longer, not when I have someone to grow old with.” He buried his face in her hair to hide the love that welled in his throat. “Let me get you a drink. You will stay with us, yes?”

“No, I am afraid,” she said, sighing. “The new opera owners are martinets…I cannot spare much time away. It is nice, actually, to have someone with a bit of authority, someone strict.”

“Is the new house beautiful?” Erik tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her to the cabin.

“Yes, it is. A bit over the top, if you asked me.” She grinned devilishly. “There is talk of a Phantom.”

Erik stopped walking. “You are joking.”

“Jealous?” Raoul asked, chuckling.

“Well, of course not. But they should not call him Phantom…it takes a great deal of work to earn that title.” Erik frowned and continued walking, not even noticing Madame’s hand falling from his arm.

“I thought I changed him,” Raoul said to Madame, winking. “I have worked so hard, worked to push the violence from him, worked to purge his soul, and here he is, complaining about a rumor of someone trying to take his place.”

“Stop,” Erik growled, still unaccustomed to the teasing Raoul loved to give.

“He does look different, Monsieur, and I did believe whatever you were doing to him was working,” Madame asked.

“Terese!” Erik all but whined, insulted at her treachery.

Raoul laughed out loud, and when Erik looked at his sparkling blue eyes and golden hair, all was forgiven. “I am sorry. Let us get Madame inside so we may give her refreshment.” 

Raoul walked ahead of the pair, and Erik took Madame’s hand once more. “He does not know?” 

“No,” Erik said with a sigh. “And I do not know what he will think. He does not know what I have been doing while he works in the fields.”

They entered the cabin, where Raoul had cool water and a small snack waiting. Madame waited until they were seated before giving Erik an envelope. “I was not to open it, so I do not know what it says.”

Raoul watched in confusion as Erik slit the envelope open. Whatever the mysterious correspondence was, it brought a smile to his lover’s face, so it was not all bad. “Erik?”

“They bought it.” His face was a mix of triumph, pride and concern. He turned to Raoul, biting at his lip. “While you toiled in the heat…I have been writing an opera. I did not want you to know…I wanted it to be a surprise. I sent it to Madame, who presented it to the owners. They have bought it, and will give me a portion of the profits from every performance.” Erik looked down at the letter. “It is the first time I have been able to write something and have it performed without force or harm to anyone.” His eyes returned to Raoul. “And now I can help to support us.”

Raoul’s mouth was dry. He licked at his lips and stood, finally finding his voice. “That is wonderful, Erik. I am so proud of you. Now I will leave you to visit with your friend. I must tend to the animals.” He left the cabin without another word.

Madame Giry looked at Erik. “Go to him.”

Erik needed no more prompting. He hurried out of the cabin in search of Raoul. He checked the stable first and found Raoul leaning against his horse, Pierre, his forehead against the thick mane as he brushed down his side. “I admit that I do not truly know much about human behavior,” Erik began, “But I assumed you might be happy for me. This is something I never thought would happen.”

“I never said I was not happy for you.” Raoul moved from Pierre, walking away from Erik and never looking directly at him. “I am very happy for you.”

“But you are unhappy in general,” Erik said. “I cannot fix whatever it is I did if you do not tell me what it is.” Erik’s face flamed, but not in anger. Yet again, he seemed to have committed a social faux paus, but whatever he did was done with good intentions.

Raoul finally turned around. “There is nothing to fix, Erik. Go celebrate your victory, for it is a true accomplishment. Go drink with Madame. It is wonderful, I swear it.” Raoul kicked at the dust on the floor. “Since she knew everything about it, anyway.”

Erik bit back a smile. “You look and act like a child.”

Raoul glared, drawing himself up to his full height. “But as you can see, I am a man. Obviously you KNOW I am a man, from the way you used my body last night. I hope you also realize that I am the man of this house, it is in my name. The least you could do is involve me in such important matters.” Raoul frowned. None of what he felt came out correctly.

Erik’s eyes narrowed, reminding Raoul of the man he had once been. “I refuse to let my temper get the better of me, and I assure you it is a very serious battle to do just that. First of all, I know you are a man. And I know, as you so kindly put it, that I am simply a guest in your house. I did not USE you; if anything, we used each other. If you would LIKE me to use you, please tell me and I will show you the difference.” Erik crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Raoul. “I am reminded every day that I live at your bidding, that your home keeps me sheltered and your food keeps me healthy. Please forgive my impudence in trying to help you, to repay you for the kindness I did not deserve.” Erik turned on one heel, proud of his arrogant exit but at the same time biting back tears that threatened to fall. He should have known that the paradise of his dreams would not last.

“Erik!” Raoul watched Erik walk away and feared that he would truly keep on walking. “Wait!” Raoul’s long legs carried him to Erik in a moment, and he grasped the other man’s arm. “I am sorry. Please forgive me.” Erik slowly turned around, his face more of a mask than the one he used to wear. “You are right, I acted like a child. I am immensely proud of you, and that is sincere. I did not mean to insult you, and you have nothing to repay. Everything I have is yours, and I hope you know that. I am proud of you,” Raoul repeated. “And…I hope we do not use each other. I give all of myself to you, and that is how I see it. I was jealous that she knew and I didn’t. It was a wonderful surprise.” Raoul realized he was babbling and closed his mouth suddenly.

“You admit that you acted immaturely…I should note the day and time, since this is a true rare occurrence,” Erik said, his face devoid of emotion. He watched Raoul frown, and a smile slowly crossed his face. “Nothing to forgive. I should have controlled my temper and found out why you were so mad.” He reached out to lightly rub his knuckles over Raoul’s cheek. “I owe you so much…more than material things.”

“I should not have snapped at you in such a fashion, acting as if I was again the Vicomte de Chagney. We are equals here,” Raoul whispered, leaning his face into the touch. “I would like you to use me,” he said, smiling slyly. Erik actually blushed.

“Later. We have a guest.” He slid his arm around Raoul’s waist, leading him back to the cabin.

 

Raoul smiled as Madame Giry held on for dear life to the sides of the small cart. Erik stood a few feet ahead of him, waving as his dearest friend rode away. While Erik and Madame visited over dinner, Raoul had gone to a neighbor and paid his son to transport Madame Giry to the carriage house along the main road.

Erik waved until she was out of sight, then slowly walked to Raoul. “Will you miss her so terribly?” Raoul asked. “I know we live in solitude out here, but…”

Erik put a finger to Raoul’s lips to quiet him. “This is not solitude. For decades I have lived in solitude.” A kiss took his finger’s place. “This is paradise.”

 

THE END


End file.
